Something I've had for quite a while, written during a period of intense rumination on the character of Oliver Wood. He's such an important figure for the first few books, and there is not enough fanfiction of depth that explores the familial relationship between them. Although very (excessively) Quidditch-minded, Wood truly admires Harry in a way that touches me: Wood is five years older and fairly immature compared to Harry's experience with Dark Magic. Besides Wood's obsession with Quidditch and the way that Harry helps him attain his Quidditch-y goals, he also cares about him like, I imagine, a younger brother.

Enjoy.

It has occurred to me suddenly that this is the first Harry Potter-singular story I've posted on Fanfiction. I've made the jump from Mugglenet, I suppose, which is far more selective and far more... shall we say... "elite." I must admit that Fanfiction has grown on me greatly and that I am no longer "saving" my HP stories for MNFF.

Hmm... this means I have to search through some old things. At least three or four documents need refurbishment and the proper care. Keep a lookout!

The first time had been the week Harry was unconscious after the fight in the dungeons with Professor Quirrell and Voldemort – the Quidditch Final against Ravenclaw. That year had been another loss, this one made far worse than usual by the fact that he had a spectacular Seeker lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing. They had no reserve Seeker, and their only hope had been to amass enough points before Cho Chang caught the Snitch – she ended up breaking a leg during her dive but winning the match.

They'd gone to the hospital to visit Harry again after the match, hoping he was awake, but he wasn't, as usual. Wood had seen his friends Hermione Granger and Ron (Weasley, Fred and George's younger brother) briefly, but apparently they had hastened back to his bedside when Cho Chang ended the match.

The next time Wood saw him was the end of school feast, looking exhausted and drawn, with a thick leather book clutched in white fingers. He thought about going over and congratulating him on whatever he'd done under the school, or on his continued survival, but he looked like he was having such a good time with Ron and Hermione – especially after his sixty points pushed Gryffindor right to the edge – that Wood didn't want to ruin it with remembrance of Quidditch failure.

.

The next Harry injury was when the cursed bludger broke his arm. Wood was a little unnerved by Harry's determination. Even he understood (later) that his instructions were a little much – Catch the Snitch or die trying, Harry – after it being pointed out in anger by George Weasley. But Harry didn't even seem to notice, argued against forfeiting the match, and spent the entire time dodging something enchanted to chase him.

What impressed Wood most was that after he got injured, he never went down. Wood watched nervously from the goalposts, expecting Harry to fall any second and getting ready to flag Madam Hooch, but almost as soon as he doubled over, he was diving, and then falling.

The game was over, and Wood thumped to the ground to see Harry staring at the Golden Snitch flapping feebly in his hand. "Aha. We've won." And then he passed out.

The crowd streamed onto the pitch; Wood watched from a distance as Harry came around, squinting into the rain, and immediately refused help from Professor Lockhart, insisting on the Hospital Wing instead. Wood agreed, grinning like a maniac because they'd won, and Harry had pulled through yet again, but before he knew it, his Seeker was looking even more faint then before, a limp and sagging arm at his side.

White-faced, Harry had managed to get up to the castle with Ron and Hermione, the Gryffindors following at a slower pace. When Wood had gathered the rest of the team – still splattered with mud, head to toe – they'd gone straight to the Hospital Wing with food and drink and joined the other two at Harry's sickbed. Unfortunately, this riled Madam Pomfrey and she forced them all out – even Ron and Hermione – leaving a dejected and lonely Harry by himself.

.

The last Harry injury Wood saw at Hogwarts was possibly the worst. He'd already been worrying all day about the difference between Slytherin and Hufflepuff and their lineups this year; Cedric Diggory wasn't a dunderhead, no matter what Fred Weasley said, and, more importantly, he was bigger than Harry and would hold his weight better in the thunderstorm.

At time out, things seemed to be worse briefly – Harry was the only Quidditch player at Hogwarts who wore glasses; consequentially, he was the only one who couldn't see in the rain. From the goalposts, Wood watched his Seeker swaying against the wind, coming very close to bludgers, to which Wood could only infer that he hadn't seen them coming. He called a time out and gathered his bedraggled, waterlogged team under an umbrella. Even as Wood watched, Harry took his glasses off and rubbed the hem of his Quidditch robes at the lenses, which smeared the rain instead of dried it, due to the fact that his clothes were soaked, too. He'd shaken them frustradedly, and they'd tried to talk tactics.

It had seemed that hope was lost, but Hermione had shown up in the nick of time with a clever little charm that made Harry's glasses waterproof. Wood had been so excited (and not at all bothered that in some countries it could have been cheating) that all the rest of them had charmed their faces, too, which greatly helped with the visibility.

It had also seemed that this would be the tie-breaker. They were up by several goals; what Wood really wanted was for Harry to catch the Snitch quickly so they could all get in and celebrate by the fire.

His hopes had gone for a figure eight: he thought for sure that Harry had seen Diggory, but he was staring in the opposite direction, at the stands, Nimbus dropping a foot at a time. Wood had yelled; the smaller red figure turned and raced the yellow that was Diggory to the middle of the pitch, and his excitement prevented him from noticing the blurred, hooded figures on the ground of the pitch or the meaning of the intense, sweeping, biting cold until he had noticed that Harry had halted, almost without meaning to, and then slipped sideways off his broomstick.

Wood watched the fall in horror. He couldn't see properly, but Harry had been at least level with the goalposts, and fell directly toward eager dementors. Several things happened in quick succession – he heard Madam Hooch's whistle, signaling the end of the game, saw Harry's fall slow dramatically, and watched a silver-bearded figure sprint from the stands and produce a glowing phoenix that drove the hordes of Azkaban guards from their pitch.

Wood sped to the ground, splashing horribly as he tried to listen for the commentary. Lee Jordan was shouting something he couldn't hear, but he felt reasonably confident that his Seeker had pulled through for him again. Grinning crazily, Wood shouldered his broomstick and found a thoroughly upset team in the Gryffindor changing rooms.

"What is it?"

Angelina Johnson pulled her head up and blinked at him blearily. "We lost, Oliver. Harry fell before he got the Snitch. Diggory tried to call it off… wanted a rematch. I told him no."

Wood's heart collapsed. Harry – lost? Harry – failed? His unbeatable Seeker, beaten? It wasn't possible. Gaping, the wind knocked out of him, Wood sank onto the bench, staring into his hands. Murmurs drifted through his consciousness, hoping Harry was all right, reiterating what he'd seen earlier, Dumbledore driving away the Dementors…

He'd silently gone to the showers and stood there for hours, shivering in the warm water. They'd lost. The first time Harry had ever lost a Quidditch match for him.

By the time he made his way up to the Hospital Wing – to inquire what happened, exactly, to Harry during the match, to find out if he was okay – everyone else was gone. Madam Pomfrey found him dripping at the foot of Harry's bed, watching him scowl in his sleep.

"Wh- what happened – to him – in the game?" Wood's voice was hollow. They'd thought for sure this was a victory. Harry had never before lost a Quidditch match.

While Madam Pomfrey chivvied him out, she sighed, and said as she closed the door, "Well, the dementors have a lot more to remind him of than you, Wood. Who can blame him?"