This idea struck me the other day and I thought it was awfully funny. This will be my first HP fic and what better way to start off then with Oliver Wood?
Summary: Oliver is not where he thought he would be at 28. Hes at dead-end Ministry job instead of doing what he was born to do-play Quidditch. And all because of a stupid injury. Now he has one last chance for a Quidditch-related career- coach a bunch of misfit Little-Leaguers who don't know a Quaffle from a waffle. This WILL be interesting.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I'm not in the mood to try to make that fact amusing to you people.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oliver? You still here? Its late."
Tracy Applebalm stood by the door of Oliver Wood's small office in the Department of Magical Transportation. Oliver ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah...I still got some work, Trac. Could you call Elle and tell her, so she doesn't worry?"
His secretary sighed. "Oliver, why don't you just go home? Get some rest? You have circles under your eyes and I'm sure Elle would appreciate seeing you..." She handed him his coat. "You can finish the work in the morning."
Oliver hesistated, then took his coat, smiling. "Tracy, what would I do without you here to tell me to stop?"
"You would probably die in here. Now get home. See your fiancee. Relax."
Oliver flashed her another smile, then left down the hallway.
He was feeling a lot better as he walked up his steps. He unlocked the door. The London townhouse was dark, except for the light coming from the kitchen. He peeked in, and there was his fiancee, Elle, sipping hot chocolate. (Oh, God. I picked the name Elle out of NOWHERE. I mean, first I wrote Eleanor but I didn't like that so I changed it to Elle. But now I realize that when they get married her name will be Elle Wood...like, Elle Woods, the girl in Legally Blonde? Oh, never mind...just letting you know it wasn't intentional...)
She grinned when she saw him, and put down her hot chocolate. "Oliver!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss. "I thought you'd be gone for at least two or three more hours." She giggled, playing with his shirt collar. "Putting in all those late hours, I was really starting to miss you..." She traced a line down his chest.
Oliver trapped her lips in another kiss. They tasted like hot chocolate. A grin spread across his face. He would really have to thank Tracy...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oliver woke up the next morning, dreading the day that would follow.
He hated his work, so he didn't understand why he through himself into it so much. He supposed it was because, ever since his injury, he wanted to be good at something as good as he was at Quidditch.
Quidditch had been a sure thing. The thing Oliver had been training for since he could walk. He father had been a famous Quidditch player, and his father's father. It was in his blood. But a damn leg injury had crushed all of that.
"They can regrow bones but they can't fix me," he muttered, throwing himself out of bed so roughly that Elle sprung up with a jolt.
"Morning, hon..." She narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong?"
Oliver shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking about Quidditch."
Elle rolled her eyes. "You know," she said, getting out of bed, "Personally, I think it was a good thing, your injury. Uou managed to get a good, stable job where you're not always on the go. It pays well, and you KNOW how much I hate sports, anyway." She pinched his cheek and smiled. "I'm gonna take a shower, 'kay, hon?"
Oliver took a deep breath, holding it as long as possible. He had to have patience with Elle. He had learned to not speak of Quidditch in front of her. She just didn't UNDERSTAND. She was sweet and pretty, and meant well, but she didn't UNDERSTAND what Quidditch was. It wasn't just a silly game, like she thought it was. It was...more. It was life for him for 19 years, and then it was just...gone.
He shook his head. He was skiving off work today.
He got dressed and grabbed some Floo Powder. "Hogsmeade!" he shouted, without bothering to tell Elle.
Oliver walked the streets off Hogsmeade slowly, sighing as he watched a happy boy run from a store, waving his brand-new broomstick in the air. "Nimbus 3000, by the looks of it," Oliver thought, "Lucky kid."
He wandered over to the park, sitting down on a bench. This was not where he belonged, sitting here on a bench. He belonged out there, playing Quidditch.
It was at this moment he was promptly hit in the head with a golf ball.
"JACOB! You were supposed to catch it! I don't want to go around busting people's skull's open!"
"Sorry, Ianthe! Sorry I'm not a perfect Seeker!"
Oliver turned around and saw a small group of young children, a Little-League Quidditch team. A girl with blue eyes and a long black ponytail was flying over toward him. She picked up the golf ball and smiled weakly. "Sorry about that. Jacob isn't the best Seeker in the world..." She threw a small boy with messy brown hair a freckles a dirty look.
"Its okay...it happens." His eyes wandered over at the team longingly. "Can I watch your practice?"
"Yeah..." Ianthe said, "But we're not very good."
Someone in the back snorted. "Thats an understandment."
Ianthe scowled. "Shut UP, Marius!" She positioned herself on the broom. "Let's play Quidditch!"
They were terrible. Oliver could tell from the moment they started play. The only one who seemed to have any talent or drive was the captain and Keeper, Ianthe. The fierce determination in her eyes...Oliver recognized it as his own when he was younger.
After the game was finally over (well, they'd never wuite finished, but Ianthe had declared the game over when Katrina, a Chaser, had gotten smacked over the head with the golf ball and began bleeding profusely) Oliver went over to talk to Ianthe.
"So, do you compete in tournaments or anything?"
Ianthe sighed. "We used to, when we had a coach. You need a a coach to compete in the Junior Quidditch league tournaments. But he got frustrated with the fact that we weren't winning and...left. Besides, the pays not good, and he wanted more money."
Oliver paused. This could be his chance. He could take this horrible team, and...and make them something. Something he himself could never be. He could make them winners...
"How would you like me to coach you?"
Ianthe's eyes lit up. "Do...do you know anything about Quidditch?"
Oliver laughed. "Yes. Quidditch was my life. I was captain of the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts a few years back."
Ianthe broke into a grin. "This is perfect! Perfect! Oh, oh..." She found a piece of parchment and a quill in her pocket. "Here..." she said, writing down a number. "This is my phone number. You do know what a phone is, don't you? My mother's a Muggle, see, and she insisted on having one in the house..." She smiled. "This will be great. I really, really love Quidditch, Mr..."
"Wood. Oliver Wood."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You WHAT?!"
"I quit my job at the Ministry to coach Quidditch."
Oliver was hoping Elle would be happy for him, even though she didn't understand Quidditch. Instead, she looked positively FURIOUS.
"Of all the stupid, brainless...for a stupid sport, Oliver..."
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, ELLE, QUIDDITCH IS NOT A STUPID SPORT! ITS WHAT I LOVE!"
Elle stared at him. She crossed her arms. "Quidditch is what you love then, is it? Quidditch?" Her beautiful face contorted into something horrible and angry. "Then marry Quidditch then, because I'm not marrying you!" She jerked of her ring, and threw it in his face.
With that, she stormed out of the house.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
How was that? I'm actually having a good feeling about this fic, although the plot reminds me of a cross between The Sandlot, Angels in the Outfield and...um...some magical movie. Harry Potter. Hmm...
Anyway, this is probably going to turn out to be some Hallmarky touching fic. Blech.
Next chapter: How will Oliver go about teaching these kids? And is there some new romance on the horizon for our guy?
Summary: Oliver is not where he thought he would be at 28. Hes at dead-end Ministry job instead of doing what he was born to do-play Quidditch. And all because of a stupid injury. Now he has one last chance for a Quidditch-related career- coach a bunch of misfit Little-Leaguers who don't know a Quaffle from a waffle. This WILL be interesting.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I'm not in the mood to try to make that fact amusing to you people.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oliver? You still here? Its late."
Tracy Applebalm stood by the door of Oliver Wood's small office in the Department of Magical Transportation. Oliver ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah...I still got some work, Trac. Could you call Elle and tell her, so she doesn't worry?"
His secretary sighed. "Oliver, why don't you just go home? Get some rest? You have circles under your eyes and I'm sure Elle would appreciate seeing you..." She handed him his coat. "You can finish the work in the morning."
Oliver hesistated, then took his coat, smiling. "Tracy, what would I do without you here to tell me to stop?"
"You would probably die in here. Now get home. See your fiancee. Relax."
Oliver flashed her another smile, then left down the hallway.
He was feeling a lot better as he walked up his steps. He unlocked the door. The London townhouse was dark, except for the light coming from the kitchen. He peeked in, and there was his fiancee, Elle, sipping hot chocolate. (Oh, God. I picked the name Elle out of NOWHERE. I mean, first I wrote Eleanor but I didn't like that so I changed it to Elle. But now I realize that when they get married her name will be Elle Wood...like, Elle Woods, the girl in Legally Blonde? Oh, never mind...just letting you know it wasn't intentional...)
She grinned when she saw him, and put down her hot chocolate. "Oliver!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss. "I thought you'd be gone for at least two or three more hours." She giggled, playing with his shirt collar. "Putting in all those late hours, I was really starting to miss you..." She traced a line down his chest.
Oliver trapped her lips in another kiss. They tasted like hot chocolate. A grin spread across his face. He would really have to thank Tracy...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oliver woke up the next morning, dreading the day that would follow.
He hated his work, so he didn't understand why he through himself into it so much. He supposed it was because, ever since his injury, he wanted to be good at something as good as he was at Quidditch.
Quidditch had been a sure thing. The thing Oliver had been training for since he could walk. He father had been a famous Quidditch player, and his father's father. It was in his blood. But a damn leg injury had crushed all of that.
"They can regrow bones but they can't fix me," he muttered, throwing himself out of bed so roughly that Elle sprung up with a jolt.
"Morning, hon..." She narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong?"
Oliver shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking about Quidditch."
Elle rolled her eyes. "You know," she said, getting out of bed, "Personally, I think it was a good thing, your injury. Uou managed to get a good, stable job where you're not always on the go. It pays well, and you KNOW how much I hate sports, anyway." She pinched his cheek and smiled. "I'm gonna take a shower, 'kay, hon?"
Oliver took a deep breath, holding it as long as possible. He had to have patience with Elle. He had learned to not speak of Quidditch in front of her. She just didn't UNDERSTAND. She was sweet and pretty, and meant well, but she didn't UNDERSTAND what Quidditch was. It wasn't just a silly game, like she thought it was. It was...more. It was life for him for 19 years, and then it was just...gone.
He shook his head. He was skiving off work today.
He got dressed and grabbed some Floo Powder. "Hogsmeade!" he shouted, without bothering to tell Elle.
Oliver walked the streets off Hogsmeade slowly, sighing as he watched a happy boy run from a store, waving his brand-new broomstick in the air. "Nimbus 3000, by the looks of it," Oliver thought, "Lucky kid."
He wandered over to the park, sitting down on a bench. This was not where he belonged, sitting here on a bench. He belonged out there, playing Quidditch.
It was at this moment he was promptly hit in the head with a golf ball.
"JACOB! You were supposed to catch it! I don't want to go around busting people's skull's open!"
"Sorry, Ianthe! Sorry I'm not a perfect Seeker!"
Oliver turned around and saw a small group of young children, a Little-League Quidditch team. A girl with blue eyes and a long black ponytail was flying over toward him. She picked up the golf ball and smiled weakly. "Sorry about that. Jacob isn't the best Seeker in the world..." She threw a small boy with messy brown hair a freckles a dirty look.
"Its okay...it happens." His eyes wandered over at the team longingly. "Can I watch your practice?"
"Yeah..." Ianthe said, "But we're not very good."
Someone in the back snorted. "Thats an understandment."
Ianthe scowled. "Shut UP, Marius!" She positioned herself on the broom. "Let's play Quidditch!"
They were terrible. Oliver could tell from the moment they started play. The only one who seemed to have any talent or drive was the captain and Keeper, Ianthe. The fierce determination in her eyes...Oliver recognized it as his own when he was younger.
After the game was finally over (well, they'd never wuite finished, but Ianthe had declared the game over when Katrina, a Chaser, had gotten smacked over the head with the golf ball and began bleeding profusely) Oliver went over to talk to Ianthe.
"So, do you compete in tournaments or anything?"
Ianthe sighed. "We used to, when we had a coach. You need a a coach to compete in the Junior Quidditch league tournaments. But he got frustrated with the fact that we weren't winning and...left. Besides, the pays not good, and he wanted more money."
Oliver paused. This could be his chance. He could take this horrible team, and...and make them something. Something he himself could never be. He could make them winners...
"How would you like me to coach you?"
Ianthe's eyes lit up. "Do...do you know anything about Quidditch?"
Oliver laughed. "Yes. Quidditch was my life. I was captain of the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts a few years back."
Ianthe broke into a grin. "This is perfect! Perfect! Oh, oh..." She found a piece of parchment and a quill in her pocket. "Here..." she said, writing down a number. "This is my phone number. You do know what a phone is, don't you? My mother's a Muggle, see, and she insisted on having one in the house..." She smiled. "This will be great. I really, really love Quidditch, Mr..."
"Wood. Oliver Wood."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You WHAT?!"
"I quit my job at the Ministry to coach Quidditch."
Oliver was hoping Elle would be happy for him, even though she didn't understand Quidditch. Instead, she looked positively FURIOUS.
"Of all the stupid, brainless...for a stupid sport, Oliver..."
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, ELLE, QUIDDITCH IS NOT A STUPID SPORT! ITS WHAT I LOVE!"
Elle stared at him. She crossed her arms. "Quidditch is what you love then, is it? Quidditch?" Her beautiful face contorted into something horrible and angry. "Then marry Quidditch then, because I'm not marrying you!" She jerked of her ring, and threw it in his face.
With that, she stormed out of the house.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
How was that? I'm actually having a good feeling about this fic, although the plot reminds me of a cross between The Sandlot, Angels in the Outfield and...um...some magical movie. Harry Potter. Hmm...
Anyway, this is probably going to turn out to be some Hallmarky touching fic. Blech.
Next chapter: How will Oliver go about teaching these kids? And is there some new romance on the horizon for our guy?