For some, Quidditch is a sport, a casual pass-time activity that keeps physical fitness at a top notch.
For others, it's a way to make a living, it's what puts the food on the table and the sport cars in the garage.
For me, Quidditch is living.
I love what it does to every sense and every part of my body.
The clear wind from flight through my lungs, my accelerated heartbeat, the sweat in every pore, the strong and sometimes sore muscles, the occasional broken toes and fingers, and the view from the air into the fog, rain and snow.
My brain becomes less scattered, less clear, when I'm in the air.
The random entities that scatter my thoughts during life place themselves into neat little boxes, small compartments where everything is labeled and maybe even color-coded.
As my heart beats, different plays and moves and reaches come to the front of my brain where they are used and stored for future planning. I live and breathe the strategy, I sweat the strategies.
As my fingers firmly grasp the quaffle, my leather gloves on the hard leather ball, I find my sense of purpose. Another one saved, another play successful.
The satisfying swoooosh-pluck of a ball being caught becomes all that I hear, all that I see to the point where the crowd is dinned and the rest of the world is shut out, so that it is me and this moment of strength and glory under my control.
Oliver awoke on one September morning to a panting in his ear. At first he thought it was his ginger and out of shape ex-girlfriend, Mara, who had been featured in his dreams as she was running after Hagrid, who was somehow much faster than the skinny 18 year-old. But alas, it was Solo, the four year old golden retriever, ready for his morning run and meal of brown pellets. The 22-year-old Keeper slid out from the barely crumpled comforter and trudged into the kitchen of the medium sized flat, where he rummaged around for a banana and power drink, Solo at his heels, panting as loud as ever. After cleanly tossing the banana peel and pitching the empty bottle into the recycling basket, Oliver went back to the bedroom where he got dressed into work-out shorts and a T-shirt for the old muggle band Queen.
This was part of the routine completed every morning by Oliver Wood and his trusty Solo. Next was a 10 K run around the London neighborhood that Oliver and Solo went on together. The pair stopped after mile four to stretch in a small park across from a nondescript apartment building where Oliver spotted Alicia Spinnet on a run with her live-in fiancé. He waved at the pair, who were just leaving the building. This was a normal occurrence for the past six months or so that Oliver had lived in this neighborhood. The two finished the run by eight thirty and on returning to the flat, each ate breakfast. Oliver choosing a box of Raisin and Bran from six identical boxes in the cupboard, and Solo crunching away at dog kibble.
While devouring two bowls of the cereal, Oliver glanced at the brochure fastened to the refrigerator door that reminded him of the Father-Son Group Therapy Class that he was supposed to go to after Quidditch practice today. He sighed and moved on to take a shower and change into his gear.
Oliver showed up to the stadium twenty minutes early for practice. The locker room was still empty and the lights were still shut off, as they were every morning when Oliver arrived. He flicked the lights on and opened the door to the training room, where he sat wrapping his hands for practice in medical tape. This task took about five minutes, so Oliver put away the materials and did some pre-practice exercises to get warmed up. He was in the middle of doing push-ups off of the team benches when two of his teammates arrived. Harrelson and Gregory, twin beaters, both reached a height of 2 meters and four centimeters and had built and stocky arms.
"'Lo Oliver." Gregory, the more talkative one, greeted.
Oliver nodded his head in response. He greatly admired and respected the twins, and he enjoyed passing time with them around the pitch and the lockers, but they would have been a formidable pair of friends for Oliver, who was surly enough (according to his mother) without outside influences. The twins were the ultimate paradox to the Weasley twins, and the similarities ended at twin beaters.
Five minutes before the scheduled practice time, the others arrived in a large, boisterous pack, with Reginald Williams leading the way.
"There is no effing way you tackled a bear." Allison Richards said indignantly.
"I most definitely did, a huge one too, with claws the size of Alfie's hands over here!" Reg elaborated in his American accent, as he threw his bag at a locker and plopped down on a bench, laying across the entire thing with his hands behind his head.
Alfie rolled his eyes, lacing up his trainers. "My hands are not that big."
"Oh, they so are, mate. My mom owns a bicycle with wheels smaller than one of your hands! Plus, you know what they say about big hands…" He smirked, giving Allison a big saucy wink.
"Aw, Reg that's repulsive." Nina Rowlands cried.
"Oh Nina, we all know that you prefer the big ones over the little gold one you chase after…"
"Reginald Williams!" Allison shouted, interrupting her ritual stretching to hit him in the bicep.
"Hey, well, I know several gentlemen that meet those standards. Right Oliver-il capitano?" Reg said, prancing over to where Oliver stood writing plays down on the board for review and nudging him in the ribs. Oliver rolled his eyes, not even flinching. "That goes for you and Alli, Neens!" He smiled his trademark grin and plopped down on the team benches where Oliver now stood waiting for the team to sit so he could brief them on practice for the day. The twins were already there, and Alfred and Allison were making their way over. Nina was scurrying around looking for her other shoe when the coaches entered.
"Hiya Ruth! How's the goatee today? It looks spectacular if I do say so myself!" Reg beamed as Head Coach Rutherford entered the room briskly, in his usual power stance.
"Quit your yapping Williams. We have hell in store for you today." He said without cracking his stony expression.
"Ouch. Oh Ruth, you're breaking my heart here!" Allison snickered at the death glare Rutherford sent Reg's way.
"Oliver, take it away." Coach Drew said, nodding towards Oliver, who was sitting up by the board.
"Allright mates, today we're going to go through the Ventricular series of plays. After lunch, we practice with the Wasps." Oliver stated.
There were several groans from the audience of six.
"I know they really suck as human beings, but we just have to prepare for the season's upcoming games. We need insight into their training, which is why we're running drills with them." Coach Connie points out, as head play runner.
"Yeah, so no fooling around like a bunch of girls." Rutherford states firmly, looking right at Reg and Alfred.
Oliver thought, It's true, they are all a bunch of big-headed losers (one player by the name of Chester Croney in particular), but this will be a regular exercise in restraint and precision for all of us.
"What happens if they hit us first coach?" Alfred asked.
Rutherford sighs, looking towards the ceiling.
It was safe to say that the practice did not go splendidly.
The Wasps arrived in anarchic fashion to the pitch at half past one, looking as if they'd spent the morning at the spa. While we've been slaving underneath the sun for three hours while it looks like they just got out of the Jacuzzi. Oliver reckoned.
Oliver straightened up, representing his team, as he walked over to where the scallywags were positioned at the visiting bench.
"Malcolm." He said in greeting.
The Wasp captain raised his sunglasses slowly, raising his eyebrows and his eyelevel to look up towards Oliver.
"Wood. Still dictating I see?"
Oliver said nothing.
"Wood, where's that ginger you were dating? I have to admit, I'd like to be acquainted with her." Chester said, deciding to make his entrance.
"Are you and Kat off for good then?" One of the beaters asked.
"Who knows?" Chester shrugged, laughing.
Oliver wanted to punch him so badly. "Look," he began, "let's just do some drills and send our teams home. Allright? No funny business."
"Allright then. Let's get started." Malcolm smirked.
It was one of the dirtiest and roughest practices of the summer. Insults were flying, and Oliver had had to break up two fights (however reluctantly), one between Malcolm and Reg and the other between Nina and Chester. Oliver had to hold Nina back from scratching Chester's eyes out as she screamed, "You bastard! You stay away from my best friend or I'm going to take your balls and shove them-"
"Nina, no matter what he did to your best friend, we can't have you disqualified before our season even begins. Just brush it off and focus it into your playing." Oliver advised carefully.
Nina shrugged him off. "He's so awful. He really screwed my best friend over. He's such a self-obsessed dick and I told her that, but she went and did him anywa-"
"Nina." Oliver warned.
"Sorry." She bristled, flying back into her stance and shooting over to where she and the Wasp's seeker were chasing down Snitches.
Oliver sighed and whistled, calling the group down to the center of the pitch. "I'm calling it." He announced to many relieved gasps. "Everyone is free to go."
The teams started to walk to their respective exits. Puddlemere packed up their things in near slience, everyone being worn out and pissed off. Oliver was the last to leave as per usual and found himself walking across the pitch alone. As he left the stadium, he could see a couple in the distance. A girl in jeans and a cap, and what appeared to be Chester. He could overhear them talking.
"C'mon babe. Why do you always do this?" He whined.
"Chester, I'm serious this time. We're over." She whipped around and started to walk away, but Chester grabbed her arm.
What an immature dick. I'm going to make him wish he was never born…
But before Oliver could make his move, the girl pulled away and apparated. Chester swore.
Oliver glared as he passed Chester. Once he got to the edge of the grounds, he apparated back to his flat, where his dad was waiting for him, sitting at the counter reading Oliver's latest copy of Keeper's Monthly.
"Did you hear that they're having chaser issues on the Arrows?" Braddock Wood asked conversationally, not even bothering to look up from the page.
"Their contracts are all in the process of being reviewed after the scrimmage against the Kestrels." Oliver stated, going to the fridge and getting an energy drink.
"Blagging is serious business. Chances are at least two of them are going to be cut. Probably Romaine and Finch if you ask me."
Oliver shrugs. "They're desperate though, with the league's numbers being down because of the war."
"I suppose we'll see." Oliver's father cleared his throat. "So, are you ready to leave?"
"Yeah, let's head over there. Do you have the portkey?" Oliver asked.
Braddock nodded towards the empty can of beer resting on the spotless counter. The two of them touched it as it glowed, transporting them in the usual tight fashion to an alleyway off the side street next to Diagon Alley, where it had just begun to rain.
The two men shuffled into the building adjacent and followed the signs down to the basement. The room was brick on brick, painted a calming beige with industrial lighting. There was a table with juice and coffee set to the side and a circle of wooden chairs in the middle. Most of the group appeared to be there, and a middle-aged woman stood at one end of the circle, appearing to be the leader. There were three spots left in a row, and one of them appeared to be saved by a man with salt and pepper hair and a brown collared shirt who kept checking his watch and peering towards the door. Oliver couldn't help but notice that several pairs of eyes followed him as he made his way to a chair next to the empty one. He sat with his arms crossed and his feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Ok, well, we should probably get started." The woman at the front said. "It looks like we're waiting for one more person, but I'm sure he'll make his way here soon. My name is Vanessa, and I am your group leader. I just want to establish that this is a safe place…"
She kept talking, but Oliver was distracted by the entrance of a girl in a baseball cap. The door was heavy, and it made a huge swoosh sound as she entered. Oliver was surprised to see that it was the same girl he had seen talking to Croney outside the pitch not twenty minutes ago. He was even more surprised to see that it was Katie Bell as the girl came closer and took the seat next to him. He could smell the rain on her still, and could make out tiny droplets of water that were still formed on her jacket.
She and the brown collared shirt man whispered back and forth briefly before Katie turned back towards Vanessa.
"Katie?" Oliver whispered.
She turned her head the rest of the way towards Oliver and nearly jumped out of her seat. It had been several months since Oliver had seen Katie, since Fred's funeral probably. "Oliver Wood? What are you doing here?" She questioned, whispering as well.
"I think the same could be asked of you. This is a father-SON group." Oliver pointed out.
"My father obviously did not read the brochure." She said rolling her eyes. "We're here because of, well, you know."
Oliver did know. He and Katie had been close back in Gryffindor, and even though they hadn't seen much of each other since Oliver's graduation, they still kept up with each other occasionally. They had fought in the battle together with Alicia and Angelina and the twins.
"Same here." He stated back. She nodded in comprehension. She had obviously heard.
"Would you two like to begin with introductions?" A voice interrupted the staring contest between the two. It was Vanessa. "If you could say your name, and a little tidbit about yourself, that would be fantastic."
Oliver cleared his throat. "My name is Oliver Wood. I'm here with my dad. I play Quidditch… and I have a dog named Solo." He looked towards Katie.
"Hi. Er, I'm Katie Bell. I don't have a job right now. My hobbies include running, eating cupcakes, and spending time with my best friend."
The rest of the introductions sounded pretty similar. There was a creepy looking guy and his son who both liked to watch the birds in the park down the street and feed them yarn. There was the yippy looking kid who admitted to a hobby of fermenting cheese, and a twat that began to cry at the mention of the word 'ear'. It appeared that this was a place for nutters, Oliver was thinking, in disbelief that he was there. It was therapy, however.
After Introductions, Vanessa told the group about the stages of grief, and how they were going to work through each stage in the seven sessions together, father and son. She led the group through dumb breathing exercises that Oliver found completely bombastic. She then spent the last fifteen minutes explaining to the group what the assignment was for the next session in two weeks.
"So the objective of this assignment is to expose each of you to fear. Go within yourself to find your fears, the things that keep you back, and interpret this into some sort of an art form. This is up to each of you to interpret, but I want you to be honest with yourselves. I want you to find those inner demons and coerce them onto the page. Admitting you have fears is the first step in getting over them." Vanessa explained.
Oliver looked over to see Katie rolling her eyes. He knew that she was awful at "artsy fartsy things" as she called it. She did not seem to be looking forward to doing this assignment. Frankly, neither was Oliver.
He sighed, sinking further into his chair, listening to Vanessa close up the session. He watched Katie's hands as they toyed with the baseball cap, twirling around her fingers. Oliver couldn't help but remember the dexterity Katie had as a Chaser. He knew that she had played for the Tornados for about a year after her graduation, but something had happened in the spring that put her name in the sports sections underneath words like "scandal" and "contract issues". He couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. Katie was definitely good enough for professional quidditch. She had been offered several positions from several teams, as Oliver had heard from Rutherford. Puddlemere had almost offered her a spot on reserve, but they were full at that point. The Arrows, training partners with Puddlemere, had offered her a spot as starting chaser, but the Tornados had snagged her before the Arrows could even elaborate on their offer.
Katie and her father, Xavier, left right after the session. As Oliver was walking out with his father, he noticed the baseball cap by Katie's chair still-she must have forgotten it. He took it with him to give to her next time.
"So Oliver, are you ready for your game this weekend?" Braddock Wood asked Oliver. "This performance will make or break Puddlemere's place in the finals."
Oliver and Braddock had stopped for a cup of coffee after the session, at Oliver's mum's suggestion and expense. Both had gotten a single black cup of coffee and were now stumbling over conversation topics like the weather and the house.
"Yeah, I reckon we're as prepared as we could be at this point." Oliver said, twisting the cup around with both hands absentmindedly, making a soft swish as the cup slid against the wood table.
"Good. I'll be in the supporter's box." Braddock nodded. "I think your mum mentioned that she would try to come. She might have a benefit or something I think she said."
Oliver nodded. Things were always awkward between Braddock and his mum, ever since they divorced when Oliver was nine. They saw each other once or twice a year, when Oliver's mum returned to the house in the country where Braddock now resided to host a local benefit around August. The split was a wreck, and Braddock still had a small mark under his chin where a toaster had hit him.
Oliver's cup continued to make soft noises while Braddock went on about possible techniques for Oliver's game and the chances of the other teams to make it into the play-offs. Oliver stopped listening at some point and watched out the window at people passing by.
"Well, I suppose we've forced this get-together enough." Braddock remarked after another twenty minutes.
Oliver agreed heartily.
Oliver rose on Saturday morning after a night of tossing and turning, intermixed with dreams about Croney scoring on him. He had laughed and chucked a baseball cap in the air at him before throwing quaffle after quaffle past Oliver's finger tips. The scariest part wasn't that that scumbag had scored on Oliver, it was that Oliver had been frozen in time, enamored by the baseball cap in front of his vision. He couldn't see or control anything for the minute it took for Croney to score five goals. Oliver woke up sweating and breathing heavily, before he calmed himself down and stepped out of his bed, stepping into his trainers and lacing them up for his run. It was still slightly dark out, but the sun was just rising above the horizon, beating itself into Oliver's eyes. On the way out of the apartment, Oliver grabbed a hat to shield his eyes from the sun. He would have to remind his team to cast a charm to block the glare before the game.
As he ran his route, he felt himself get excited for the game. His endorphins were pumping through his veins as he pictured the match that was eight hours away. To be honest, it wasn't an important match by regular season means, as it was only two weeks after the end of season tournament- which Puddlemere had not secured a spot in. This was the first preseason game however, and Oliver's first as captain. The public would be looking for signs of growth, or of failure, from Oliver as the new commandeer of Puddlemere United. It was also the first game that would be recorded under Puddlemere's alliance with the Arrows, so both teams would be holding their breath for a good win from the other team.
Oliver knew that he might not have caught the eyes of the public in his three seasons of playing for Puddlemere as a rookie. He had been consistent enough, but Puddlemere's record had been decent, at best, and the team had flown beneath any significant news or fan additions. In fact, Puddlemere had been predicted to lose the game today, as the other team- the Tornadoes- were defending league champs and had been the fan favorite the last two seasons.
But Oliver had constructed a dream of rebuilding the team from the inside out as captain. His coaches had spotted his potential from the start and now was Oliver's time to showcase his true potential. With the new additions of Nina and Alfred, and with a new attitude, Oliver planned for Puddlemere to showcase the dedication and passion that Oliver had been harbouring on the sidelines his whole career up to this point. It was time for Puddlemere United to become winners- not because no one expected it or because they had become forgotten (this wasn't about glory), but because they wanted to win, to become victors in the land of broken dreams and suffering.
Oliver returned to his flat motivated to play harder than he ever had before. After several bowls of his cereal and food for Solo, Oliver grabbed the game day bag he had packed for himself the night before and apparated to his team's stadium, where the game was set to be at noon.
The grass was dewy, but in a few short hours, it would make for a perfect, precise kick-off. The sun well still bright, made for a clear view across the pitch. There was a soft breeze stirring about, and not a cloud in the sky. Oliver noted with a sense of caution the moisture building in the air, but noted that as long as the game finished by four they would avoid rain.
Oliver paced the field, did a couple of laps around the stands, tasting the air, feeling the sun on his skin, listening to his heart beating, breathing, sweating. Time disappeared, and there was only Oliver and the field, and the game.
The coaches arrived, then the team, then a line began to form at the entrance box, formed by people wearing Tornados jerseys and waving sky blue banners. Oliver watched it all happen from his place at the hoops. He saw the media gather in the box reserved for them and Oliver went to the locker rooms. He quickly changed into his jersey and laced up his paddings. He realized he was still wearing the baseball cap as he walked over to the team room. He tucked it into the back of his jersey, at a loss of where to put it before the match began. The team was in the room, prancing about and getting pumped up for the game. As Oliver arrived, they took their places on the benches and the coaches filed in at the front. Oliver took a seat next to Reg, his teammate from the past three seasons. They had started the reserve team together Oliver's first season and they had withheld last season together on Oliver's second year as a starting keeper.
Reg looked at Oliver's face next to him. "This is when Puddlemere becomes United again, isn't it?"
Oliver nodded.
Rutherford and the others went over reminders of plays and positions and went over the knowledge of the other team's faults. Oliver had heard all of it before, but he paid rapt attention to the details that they relayed.
Then it was Oliver's turn to speak to his team before they entered the now full stadium.
He stood before them and gave to them the speech he had drafted the past several weeks.
"Today, you were given new jerseys upon your arrival. Before we were brown, the colour of dirt, the colour we see when our heads are buried underneath the grass.
"These new jerseys are blue-not sky blue like the Tornados, but a rich navy. This blue is the colour of the sky at the World Cup.
"People say that we are going to lose this game. But they were not there when we sweat, when we bled, when we became a team. Puddlemere is the oldest team in this league. The Tornados are not our hardest competition, but they are the not easy. They have the crowd.
"We have the passion, however. We have the drive to win this game, to win the league, to become the team of England. I've seen it."
Oliver nodded, finished.
The team roared with cheering. They chanted and yelled and hollered as Oliver led them down the hallway. When they reached the tunnel they became silent.
Echoes of noise filled the long round tunnel where they lay waiting as the Tornados were called out.
Oliver tuned it all out though. The announcer, the cheers, the taunts, all of it.
When his name was called, he flew out into the day, doing a lap with his team before landing at the kick-off point.
Oliver felt it all. He had the perfect anticipation and energy as he shook hands with Brevis Birch. He felt the game begin.
His chasers had perfect syncopation and unity as they flew down the pitch. As they scored the first points of the match, the crowd was silenced in surprise before they clapped or booed.
After Puddlemere scored again, and then for a third time, the Tornados realized this game was not going to be the plum-picking they expected. The Chasers plowed up the pitch, ready to compete.
But Oliver was ready. He felt that he had been caged in the past seasons by his team's lack of motivation and the captain's low expectation. Now he was in charge of his own performance.
He saved one goal, receiving it right at his chest.
He saved a second and third, responding to the Quaffle as it sailed from the grip of the Chaser towards the hoops at the speed of a bullet train.
Puddlemere gained possession again, scoring. Tornados, fought back, but were sullied to find their attempts at scoring blocked by Oliver Wood once again.
Right after Oliver saved his tenth Quaffle, there was an uproar as the two seekers vied for the gold. As Nina went for the snitch, Oliver passed the Quaffle to Reg, who knew exactly how to focus, scored again.
The stadium was silent for a second, and then everything was clear again.
"We won!" Allison cried. "We won!"
Reg enveloped Oliver into a bear hug, and the rest of the team joined them at the hoops. The Tornados looked on, completely dumbfounded at their loss.
Oliver hollered, Reg pounded his chest, Allison screamed, Nina cried, the twins whooped, Alfred yelled.
"And Puddlemere wins 210-0 to the Tornados! I don't think anyone expected Puddlemere to win, none the less make Quidditch history! Credit goes to Oliver Wood with a complete shut-out game!" The announcer exclaimed, completely enamored. "It seems as if Puddlemere United is here to make a statement this season with Wood as their new captain! And did you see those robes!"
The team made their way to the grass, where the coaches joined them in their celebration.
"THIS IS IT! THIS IS OUR SEASON!" Rutherford yelled in excitement. "WOOD, COME HERE, I WANT TO KISS YOU RIGHT NOW!"
Rutherford settled for a rough man-hug.
The team's cheer-fest carried on to the locker rooms, where they turned up the music and danced around rather than shower and change.
"Allright team, you all are needed for a press conference in thirty minutes. Clean up and get out to the conference room in twenty five. Look sharp why don't you." Rutherford ordered.
Everyone did as they were told, and Oliver found himself in a clean-pressed collared shirt, jeans, and his new lucky hat, sitting amongst his team for interviews.
Oliver Wood found himself to be the topic of the night.
Reporters hounded him about his previous records, asking him about steroids, his captaincy, talent, methods, and his team.
Oliver simply grinned and told of the hard work the team had been putting into their newfound success. He reiterated how happy they were and how they still had a lot of work to do before the real season began.
"We caught the Tornados by surprise today, which is what we were hoping for, but we'll be putting our teeth to the grindstone and pounding away at the mistakes we made and growing as a team, which is all we ask for." Oliver stated to a couple of cheers, one of which was from Reg.
Oliver couldn't help but grin. "I believe that that is all for tonight, if you have any more questions you can contact our publicist. I believe we have a victory party to get to."
The media all stood up, some cheering, others trying to get a last question in as the team left, heading out to the team room.
"Party at my place!" Reg hollered. "Bring as many hot girls you know!"
The team apparated to Reg's flat in downtown London, where they played loud techno music and brought about a ton of alcohol and some really beautiful girls.
Oliver snagged a beer and went out to the balcony that overlooked the river. He wasn't a big party person, but he enjoyed the company of his not-so-sober teammates. Tonight, he watched over the bustling traffic and listened to the sound of the river alone, relishing in the victory. This was his favorite feeling in the world- the one of satisfaction after no mistakes. It beat out everything from his mum's brownies to kissing a girl he liked.
Oliver fingered the brim of his hat and felt the rough, fading edges that gave him a feeling of luck and home for whatever reason.