A/N: Thanks to all of the people who reviewed on 'Fear' and 'Euphoria'. I really liked the suggestions that you all gave me, so I think I will use two and make up one of my own (there are three types of fear, so there you go). NickyFox13 is sweet. The idea of this story comes from her, so there. I'll use someone else's later. Okay, so the first one in the Fear category is 'Paranoia'. So here we are:

DISCLAIMER! I don't own the idea of this story (thanx NickyFox13), nor the original storyline by JKR. And also, I don't own the song I'm listening to (Anastasia, by Prince)

(btw, Oliver is like, 12, and its before he is going to go to school in like July or something.)

Oliver Wood looked out of his living room window. "Do I have to, Dad? You know I'm afraid of it."

"Oh, the sky?" His dad chuckled.

"No, the height of the sky. I don't want to go up there."

"But your father, and your father's father, your grandfather, we've all been on the Gryfindoor Quidditch Team as Keeper, and now that you have the chance to live on that dream, you're not going to?"

"It's not my dream, Dad. I just like watching the game, not playing it." Oliver's dad sat down next to Oliver on the couch, sighing.

"Oliver, how about I teach you how to ride a broomstick? We live in a Non-Muggle area, so I can do this with you, okay?" Oliver looked at his dad.

"Fine. But you have to promise that you'll take me down as soon as I say."

"Okay then. Grab your broomstick."

"What?" Oliver looked up at his dad. "I thought you were going to take me on your broom!"

"No, you're a big kid now. You have to learn how to get up by yourself." Oliver sighed and grabbed his small broomstick. The two walked outside into the backyard, where they saw a neighbor de-gnoming the garden.

"Hello, Mrs. Hallows!" Oliver's dad called out. The round lady just waved swiftly, concentrating on the gnome at her feet. Oliver looked up into the sky.

"Okay, son," his dad started. "First, put the broom on the ground. Now say up."

"Up." It wavered for a second, and then flew up to his hand. Oliver's dad clapped.

"Great, son! Now, get on it." Oliver got on. "Now just lightly push up from the ground." Oliver pushed onto the ground, and he levitated in the air. He automatically started to breathe heavily. His dad told him to get back onto the ground, and when his feet touched the ground, he sighed and breathed like normal.

"Okay, I've learned, can I go back inside now?" Oliver said desperately. His dad just laughed.

"Okay, son. Don't have a hippogriff. Now, we are going to get back onto the broom, but I want you to push off hard, okay?"

"Why?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Because we have to get you up there if you wanna play."

"But…I don't want to…"

"Just push when I tell you to."

Oliver sighed and waited for the dreadful word.

"Push!" his dad yelled. Oliver pushed with all of his might, and he went flying up into the air. He closed his eyes tightly, and when he felt himself stop, he opened his eyes.

He could see the blinding sun, and all of the clouds were all fluffy and white. He smiled slightly, but hten he just happened to look down.

He screamed.

The world seemed so far away, and he was breathing too hard, and it felt as if he was falling, and his scream filled the air before dying out, and his eyes were clouding over, and he felt himself being pulled into a pair of burly arms, and…

"Oliver, son, are you okay?" Oliver opened his eyes and saw his dad, holding him in his arms in the air. Oliver shook his head and said, "I am afraid of heights, Dad."

"I know. I was too. I'm sorry. But to get over your fear, you must embrace it, okay?" Oliver nodded, and they flew down onto the ground. When his feet hit the ground, Oliver collapsed, kissing the dirt.

"I didn't think I'd ever miss the dirt so much," he muttered, getting up after a few minutes. His dad just laughed.

"We can finish getting you trained after dinner. Your mother is making a pot roast tonight!"

After dinner, Oliver and his father went outside, and they flew around. Oliver was afraid, but everyday they went outside and his fear subsided eventually, with one more day until Hogwarts.

"So son," his father said, tucking him in along with his mother. "Are you going to follow the family tradition?"

Oliver nodded, smiling. "Yes. I love Quidditch."

And that's why he's so obsessed with Quidditch. His father implanted it in his head that it was the best thing since sliced bread.

A/N: ahahaha. That was funny. Well, it's time for dinner here in my house, so I'll probably type some more later. Poor Oliver. He was all, "noooo!" I understand that whole, 'Hit the ground, I'm okay' thing. I do that when I'm swimming: I can't swim when I can't touch the floor, even if I'm only centimeters off. As long as my feet touch the ground when I'm done diving or trailing along, I'm fine.

There's a little tidbit about me lol.