Disclaimer: Whatever. I own nothing.

Now, before this thing gets underway, I would just like to point out that I love Oliver to death, and, if there was ever a time when I was in my right mind, I sure as hell wouldn't be doing this to them. That's it. Read on...

The first two chapters to this story are identical to the third and fourth of Very Crazy Things. This is because I thought it would be fun and twisted to make a whole thing based on Oliver and his insanity. Enjoy!

The Wonderful Life of Oliver Wood

Once upon a time, Oliver Wood decided to become a school teacher. Now, I know most of you, as I did, are wondering why someone sotalented at something such as Quidditch would give it up forever to teach little brats to read and write. This can be easily explained - One day, during a particularly violent match with Bulgaria, was hit in the head with a Bludger as a last-ditch resort by an opposing Beater to claim the championship title. He survived, thankfully and to the relief of millions of screaming fangirls, but woke up from a lengthy coma having no recollection of the life he once had. All Oliver knew was that he wanted to enrich the minds of those less fortunate than himself.

So, Oliver left the hospital and went to a Muggle school to learn what one needs to know to be a teacher. It was a long and arduous process, but he prevailed. It took a while before Oliver discovered which level of learning (preschool, elementary, middle, or high) he wanted to teach, but in the end, he fell in love with the elementary school kids.

And this is when the story takes place, once Oliver found his niche. At the current point, he is lounging in his very cushy spinny chair at his very nice desk at a very prestigious elementary school by the name of Horace Green. The students are all at lunch, and then off to recess, so Oliver has a bit of time to himself to gather his thoughts. Of course, this was probably not the best of ideas, seeing as how those thoughts had turned to violence the past few days, as the students became increasingly more and more rowdy as vacation drew closer.

Oliver was unaccustomed to having people not do what he said when he said it. Whenever he had been put in charge of a group of people before, the majority younger than himself, he seized command and led his army straight into the depths of battle. Yet, there were a few differences. First of all, these were young children, barely old enough to stand on their own two feet (as Oliver liked to tell himself to compensate for his incompetence), not Quidditch players yearning for the House Cup for the first time in a very long time. Second, well, let's face it, Oliver wasn't exactly known for being the kindest and gentlest person around. In fact, he was rather accustomed to yelling and ordering people around, which obviously did not bode well with the parents of the students he was supposed to be educating.

There was something about the way Oliver taught that simply annoyed the parents. Sure, the kids learned what they were supposed to, I mean, who cares if they come home crying? Oliver leaned back in his chair and thought, trying to determine how he could end the barrage of complaints. After a few minutes of hardcore thinking, he came to a conclusion - he would try something new. But what? That was most definitely more easily said than done. A couple more minutes of pondering and Oliver came up with the answer - he would try being more kind and gentle. It was brilliant, if he did say so himself (which he did). And the perfect opportunity came to test his new theory once the children had returned from lunch. Oliver jumped out of his seat and said cheerfully:

"Hello, class! Now that everyone is all nice and full, why don't we begin with the new lesson." The students all stared at Oliver as if he had grown another set of heads and a broomstick had just produced itself from his bottom. Oliver ignored the looks and continued, writing a complex math equation (2+3?) on the black board in the front of the room. "Now, who can tell me the answer?" When no one raised their hand, Oliver decided to choose one to answer, but not anywhere near his normal way of yelling and degrading. "Shannon? How 'bout you?"

Shannon was a cute little girl, with mousy brown hair and freckles. Normally, she was very quiet, a trait that Oliver liked very much. This still held true as she stared at him in shock, resembling a deer caught in the headlights, with her eyes wide and frightened looking.

"No? Ok then, next student. How about... Greg. Do you know the answer to the problem on the board?" Greg was one of Oliver's least favorites of his class of eighteen, due to his obnoxious habit of speaking out of turn. However, the one time when Greg should have responded, he didn't and instead stared at Oliver as if one of his newly acquired heads had been painted with black and pink checkers. "No? Are you sure you don't know?" Greg shook his head slowly, a bit worried about what Oliver would do next. Normally, in a situation such as this, Oliver would explode and rant on and on about how stupid they all were and how they were never going to make it in the "real world". However, this was the new Oliver and the new Oliver would never blow up at an innocent child.

"Well, that's all right. We'll go over it until everyone understands it, all right?" A series of delayed nodding commenced as he turned to face the board. Oliver picked up a piece of chalk and rewrote the equation, larger, and with little circles to represent the amount.

"Now, if there are two cookies in this group and three cookies in this group, how many cookies will there be if they all are put in one group? Allan? How 'bout you?"

"Uh, does it matter what kind of cookies they are?" The class giggled and Oliver shook his head, smiling slightly. Allan was known for eating just about everything he could get his hands on and more. Cookies just so happened to be a personal favorite, and Oliver knew it. Step one, he thought to himself as Allan set to work trying to solve the problem Know what the kids respond to. That way, they have more incentive to do well at something. Bribing probably works just as well. God, I should write a book.

"Do you have the answer yet, Allan?" He asked kindly, still in a vastly different manner than what was the norm.

"Um... six?" Oliver smiled and millions of screaming fangirls all over the world swooned and fainted.

"Close. The answer is five. Can anyone tell me why?" A red headed girl by the name of Petunia raised her hand tentatively. "Petunia?"

"Because there would have to be one more than there is to make six?"

"Right. Now, are you asking me that or telling me?"

"Um... telling you?"

"Right. Next time, try it with a bit more confidence, all right?" Petunia nodded, and the class still could not for the life of them figure out what was wrong with their teacher. The remainder of the day passed in a similar manner, with Oliver adopting his new philosophy that if you didn't pressure or frighten the students they would perform better. Moments before the bell rang, as the class was packing their stuff to go home, a tall, smart-alecky boy came up to Oliver's desk, where he was grading papers.

"Um, Mr. Wood? Can I ask you something?" Oliver looked up from a particularly riveting worksheet on vowel pronunciation.

"Why of course, Steven. What can I do for you?" The boy, Steven, averted his gaze to a spot of dirt on the tiled floor as to not meet the gaze that millions of screaming fangirls all around the world would kill to see.

"Well, ya see, some of the other guys and I were wondering..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Well, we wanted to know why you're not being the mean Mr. Wood we all know. I mean, it's just strange that you're being so nice all of a sudden. Sorta like you're trying to lure us into thinking you're really a nice guy or something." Oliver blinked at him for a few moments, trying desperately not to explode at this poor, innocent child.

"Excuse me?" He voice was low, soft, tone dangerous. Steven wisely opted to keep his mouth closed as he began to step backwards slowly. Just as a loud stream of curses escaped Oliver's mouth (most of which is unprintable due to the rating of this fic), the bell rang and the students sprinted out of the room just as fast as their little legs would carry them. "THAT'S IT! I QUIT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I need my shrink..." And with that, the former teacher, Mr. Oliver Wood, stormed out of the school building, swearing that the next child that crossed his path would be in for a nasty surprise. In fact, this type of deranged muttering continued as he made his way down to his psychiatrist's office, where the verdict was that he was crazy.

The end.

I love Oliver. I love screwing with him more. Take that as you will.