DISCLAIMER: As I always say, if the Potterverse were mine, my stories wouldn't be called fanfiction. And I certainly wouldn't post them online, as opposed to publishing them and making millions out of them.
Counting to Five.
Oliver was a morning person. That was undeniable. He had time to enjoy mornings even when he was walking to the Quidditch pitch along with his team, who made it very obvious that they didn't like to be woken up before the break of dawn. The sky had only started to show signs of the night's end. Birds were chirping and little droplets of dew clung to his boots. He inhaled and smiled. The smell of the moist grass had always made him feel alive; the sound of his own steps against it was the perfect way to start the day.
It was only when they got to the pitch that the team collapsed on the benches, and Oliver was reminded of his position.
In direct contradiction with popular belief, he had a heart. It ached a little every time he ushered the team to the pitch at these early hours. He was certain none of them actually saw the road - they just followed him with their eyes closed, hoping to get there quick and maybe steal a few minutes of sleep here and there. He had to resist making the mental note to lead them to the lake next time. That would wake them up, he theorized, but he shuddered whenever he thought of what the Weasley twins would do to him in return.
In addition to their cruel revenge, all of them would miss a whole practice. That was unforgivable. But that day, there would be practice, which was sadly evident to the six grumpy people sitting in front of him, looking at him as if he had just killed Dumbledore.
"Here's what we'll do today," he started. "I want to encourage you today to do some outside-the-box thinking and to try new positions..."
The twins fought to stifle their laughter. Harry wore an amused smirk. The girls rolled their eyes. Oliver reviewed his wording.
Oh.
"Seriously, man." said George. "it's like you do this on purpose to mess with us."
The twins were big fans of double entendres, or anything that remotely sounded like it. On their first year in the team, they would break into uncontrollable laughter every time Oliver asked them to 'mount their brooms.'
It had been a long year.
"The point is that today we're working on your weak spots." He rarely got distracted, and he didn't allow the team to get too distracted either."We've done a lot of work on them in the past, and you're all doing great, but today it's going to be different. I'm going to take it one step further. I want you to be original and try things you've never tried before."
"Ooh, ooh, I know!" Katie interrupted. "I'm going to hang from my broom upside down. And going to try to pass the Quaffle that way!"
He had to fight the urge to be annoyed at being interrupted, only to have to fight the urge to be amused by her words. Katie was three years younger than him, but he had always had a certain weakness for her. Petite, spunky, and delightfully wicked, she was the only one who could soften him and make him smile with her antics. Her sense of humor was subtle, and her malice appeared childish yet sharp.
He could feel his resolve weaken. His team permanently let him know with their mischievous behavior that early morning practices were, to put it softly, hell. He could see their tired faces, and he could sometimes feel their spirits getting desperate.
To be quite honest, he missed his bed now. He missed it badly.
But he had to take a deep breath and persevere. His method to fight the cracks on his willpower was always the same: Count to five, clear his mind of distracting thoughts, and remember why he was doing this. Then, just go on with his plan.
One.
As always, everything went through his head in those five seconds. His first toy broom at the age of two. His first real broom at the age of seven.
Two.
Getting to love the sport. Following the league. His dream to be in the Hall of Fame of Quidditch. Flying aimlessly for hours, imagining a cheering crowd.
Three.
Those impossible-to-stop shots he had stopped in his tryouts for the team. Every shot he had stopped, ever. Every shot he hadn't stopped.
Four.
The two last years, in which his team had absolutely deserved to win. The fact that this was his last chance to win the Cup. That he owed this to his team, and they owed it to themselves.
Five. Now fight.
"Katie, as long as you keep making good passes and scoring, you can hang on a swing on Marcus Flint's broom for all I care. But not today. What we're doing today is..."
He started explaining what he wanted from them that training session. As he'd said, he was slowly working on everyone's weak points, and their progress made him proud. What he wasn't proud of was the fact that his team was asleep on the benches, not having heard a single word.
This gave him the urge to rage. He was now more than used to dragging them to the pitch and forcing them on their brooms. Some particularly hostile mornings, he had also had to force himself out of bed and into his robes, to keep raising the bar on them and on himself. That very same morning, he had a bad fight with his blankets and pillow upon waking up, until they unwillingly released him.
He cared for the team, the game, and the Cup. He knew they also cared, but he could only push them halfway. Their interest was harder to gain and it frustrated him.
Instead of yelling, he breathed in deep and counted to five. The meaning of Quidditch in his life appeared in his mind again. Afterward, he spoke loud and clear:
"Do you want to win the Cup, or do you want to sleep while Slytherin scores goals and gets the Snitch?"
This woke them up, and they had at least the decency to look guilty. All of them but Angelina, who'd apparently had enough.
"Wood, do you want us to pay attention, or do you want to keep scheduling early morning practices when none of us gets enough sleep to begin with? Do you honestly expect us...?"
"Yes. Now take your brooms out." Even Angelina, who had a strong character, wouldn't dare to complain when faced with his stubbornness.
Lazily, they all did as told. Everyone seemed to get more relaxed as soon as they were outside. The clear sky was starting to glow with a soft light and Oliver was glad to see that Alicia, the most sensitive of the seven, was even looking up and enjoying the fresh air.
Before going up in the air, they rounded up to hear his summarized explanation of the practice.
"Now let's try this. We're not going anywhere until each of you girls score five times. Angelina, only shots with your left hand. Katie, your shots have to go through the middle hoop or they don't count. Chasers, you can't pass the Quaffle to Alicia - she must intercept the pass. George, attack us with your Bludgers with a reverse shot. Fred, defend us from George's Bludgers. Snitch released, now up. Wait, Harry. You must give it a minute of advantage every time."
This practice was admittedly easy on himself, but he had at least one every week in which the Chasers got to do whatever they wanted. They were a ferocious team. Oliver loved those training sessions in which he felt like giving up, and the feeling itself fought to be resisted. He had never given up, not even when he had stopped feeling every limb in his body. He loved every single second of the pain that led him to be better every day.
Training started slow, then picked up. He quickly confirmed that Angelina's shots were deadly, and Alicia proved to be quite sneaky. The twins had a war between themselves and definitely were enjoying it. Harry was... well, Harry. He did his thing, bothered by no one. But Katie's inability to fulfill her mission was keeping the team behind.
"Oliver, please let's do something else," she begged after almost an hour of only scoring three goals. "This is impossible."
Her plea moved him, but this time it was easy for him to refuse. Katie could do this; he knew it.
"Katie, you can do this. You only have two goals left. You've been amazing so far and I'm not giving up on you."
"Can I go?" Fred asked in a low voice. "I'm starving."
"No one goes anywhere. We're a team and you're staying here to support Katie."
A few minutes later, Katie had managed to score with the fastest curve she had ever thrown. Oliver gave her a thumbs-up and a smile after throwing the Quaffle back to her.
"See? Just one left."
But she was getting predictable now, even when she tried to score in different rings to prevent this from happening. Even the other two Chasers would score every now and then to confuse him.
"This is so frustrating," he heard her complain with a broken voice. "I don't know how much more I can take before collapsing, and Oliver is like fresh out of the box."
"You're driving her to tears, Wood!" Angelina yelled. "Could you please let this go?"
"No. She can do it. Can't you, Katie?"
He knew she couldn't refuse a challenge, and that's why he phrased it as such.
"I'll do it."
She quickly discussed a strategy with the other Chasers. She then advanced with her usual speed and grace. He thought she'd attempt the curve again, as it was successful before. And she did indeed throw a curve, but aimed at the right hoop.
Only this time, Alicia intercepted the Quaffle and passed it back so quickly, that Oliver didn't have time to react before Katie scored her final goal.
Her pessimist attitude was gone in a second. She screamed in pure joy and did a victory flight. Oliver admired her silhouette against the bright orange of a cloudless dawn, as the team cheered on her. Her long, dark hair got loose from her braid and her sweet bliss made her look striking.
That pleasant moment was over too soon, and before he knew it, she was beside him. He had been so enthralled, he hadn't realized the rest of the team had already descended. Katie just seemed to be caught up in her own careless pleasure, for the next thing she did was to shift her right leg over to the left side of her broom, and to let herself fall back. Now everyone was staring at her with dread, for she was hanging upside down from her broom.
Gryffindor was the house of the brave, but sometimes Katie was simply fearless.
"Katie, you're going to fall! Oh Merlin!" Alicia's scream had a faint echo.
"I'm sorry to give you a heart attack, Leesh, but after what I said earlier I just had to do this! It's so much fun! Now, Oliver, please help me get back up before I die?"
He was more than glad to help - his Chaser wouldn't play well at the game against Slytherin if she wasn't alive to begin with.
"Don't do that again," he warned after Katie was back to a normal sitting position. "And for the record, I don't want you to hang on a swing from Flint's broom, either."
"That's too bad. I was planning to try that next."
On that note, they got back to the ground. They were only twenty minutes later than usual, so the preferred option was record-time showers before heading back. No one blamed the delay on Katie and, once again, Oliver was proud of his team.
"You know, guys, I know now why Oliver doesn't mind early morning practices," announced Alicia with a triumphant expression, before reaching the castle.
"Because our misery is his fun?"
"Because he 's having a love affair with the pitch?"
"Because... well, you know, Quidditch?"
"Guys," laughed Alicia. "I can't possibly be the only one who realized he never has any classes during first period."
"What? So all this time we've been torturing ourselves to survive first period, you've just gone back to bed for two hours? Classy, Oliver, very classy." Harry was offended.
Oliver smiled without answering. The team could try his patience at times, but it was definitely worth it.
The Common Room's lighting was too dim for his taste on the late night hours. He was trying to use the miniature Quidditch pitch and Gryffindor team dolls to emulate the exact play he had come up with. To his annoyance, his mind was wandering way too much. More specifically, something Angelina had said that morning was stuck inside his head.
You're driving her to tears.
Katie was doing homework alone in front of the fire. She seemed fine and happy, just a little tired. That was great, because the mere idea of female tears scared him senseless, and the idea of Katie tears also made him wrinkle inside.
She seemed to be done with her assignments, for she was gathering her scrolls together and placing them in her bag. He did need to talk to her so he let out a loud sigh, forgot about his miniatures, and walked up to her.
"What are you doing up so late?" He asked. She turned to look at him, her tired eyes softening.
"I was so exhausted that I had to take a nap earlier, so I did my homework now." She looked around, and saw that the Common Room was empty. "Is it that late? I didn't even feel the time passing. But then, why are you awake?"
"Just... Quidditch, you know?"
"Oh, that. How could've I forgotten?"
He chuckled softly, and then he found the courage to pose the question that bothered him.
"Katie, do you think I'm a bad captain?" He let out. She stared at him as if he had suddenly turned into Snape, so he had the urge to explain himself. "Angelina said today I was making you cry."
"That? Oh, I didn't cry. I was frustrated, tired and hungry, but that's got nothing to do with your skills. I'll never stop thinking you're wonderful. I mean, yes, you care about this a little too much, but what other Captain would have gotten me to do what I did today?"
" I did nothing. I just knew you could do it, and you did. Believe me that in a real game, most of those throws would've gone through. It's just that I... I know I have to push you, but I don't want to push too hard and break you. I don't want you to quit the team."
"I'm not that fragile. Have you gone mad? If I had wanted to quit the team, I would've quit long ago. Not when we're so close to win the Cup. This is true for every one of us. We all want it bad, we know what's necessary, but that doesn't mean we love every second of the road. I'm even a bit jealous of you because you do ."
"I'm nothing without Quidditch. It means the whole world to me," was all he could answer.
"I know. We know. So don't doubt yourself. You have the tenacity and the drive to motivate us six, and you are a great deal better than you were when I met you. Both as Keeper and as Captain."
He couldn't help but smile at Katie's heated honesty.
"That is good to hear."
They enjoyed the silence for a few seconds while Katie finished getting her things together. The firewood cracked, and it was such a delicious sound that Oliver turned to its source and stared. Orange, like the dawn. He remembered how Katie had seemed so beautiful and so free...
She now stood up and faced him, her bag over her shoulder. He tried to shake off his memories and keep being a professional Captain.
"Well good night, Katie. We have another early morning, so make sure you get some rest."
He waited for her good night, but it didn't come. She stared at him for what seemed like ages, and then spoke with a decided tone.
"You gave me so much strength today, Oliver. Nothing is better than knowing that you believe in me, and make me believe in myself. Thanks for that."
He opened his mouth to speak, but he was too surprised to respond. Katie, while sincere, seldom appeared this vulnerable.
She bit her lip, looking at him a second longer than he could take. And then, without another word, she leaned in and kissed him. That was a another surprise, and a very pleasant one. Oliver found that his hand was flying to her nape. She lingered. That impacting orange flashed again in his mind, and his heart felt like it had expanded two times its size. Her hand, placed on his shoulder for balance, was shaking wildly.
She wasn't so fearless, after all, and he was now thinking that she was very brave.
That train of thought lead him to realize his mistake. He remembered, too late, that Katie was his teammate. He was her Captain. They were close to victory, and victory required no distractions.
The task was nearly impossible to complete with those tender lips pressed against his own, but he found himself having to count to five. The only image that appeared before his eyes was winning the Cup. That, and this girl who owned a special spot in his heart remaining by his side after their thirst for victory had been quenched.
"You're my teammate, Katie," he whispered between kisses, removing his hand from her hair. "Let's... let's save this for later."
She slowly pulled away with a serene smile and a faint blush. Her eyes shone too much for her to be angry or disappointed. She understood.
"Good night, Captain," she whispered. "See you at dawn."
Author notes: This is my first fanfic in English. It was my submission for the True Colors contest. The character I chose was Oliver, and the color assigned to me was orange. It represents perseverance, endurance and strength. I had to have him portray one of those qualities, which was easy seeing as Oliver is all of those three. And as soon as I read 'orange' I thought of dawn, and his crazy dawn practices. This came together pretty much effortlessly.
I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'd really appreciate some feedback.
Special thanks to Yellowtail555 for Beta-reading this little piece!
-Karyn.