Merlin, could Flitwick get any more boring? Oliver leant forward ignoring the energetic little professor and tapping his quill furiously as he mentally ran through his team list again. The Weasleys were a no brainer; Beaters weren't the trickiest position to fill, but two who worked in tandem as well as the twins did was a bit of luck. He shuddered mentally again as he remembered the horrible thought that had occurred to him at the welcoming feast whilst watching two young witches get sorted. Patel or something? Twins - in separate houses! All that Beater potential scrapped, because of a hat. He shook his head, thanking Merlin that Fred and George were too similar to be parted.
He'd held preliminary trials over the weekend, and was confident that the old crew had all made it. Fair-minded and determined to field the best possible team, Oliver had even announced open trials for his own position, Keeper. There was really only one position he wasn't certain about, and it was classically the hardest to fill well: Seeker. Oliver mentally reviewed his Chasers; Katie, Angelina and Alicia could be fast, but even Katie lacked the single mindedness a good Seeker needed. All three, hell the whole team, out flew the other Gryffindors when they played. There wasn't a single kid he could think of who could fill the Gryffindor team Seeker's shoes better than his existing team, but who to move?
He gnawed on his thumb nail, comparing the flying styles and temperaments of Bell, Spinnet and Johnson. One of them would have to be Seeker, there was nobody else. That arrogant berk McLaggen would be a passable Chaser he supposed. Maybe he ought to consider reserve players? Charlie Weasley never had though, and (when just an impressionable firstie) Oliver had modelled himself on the popular red headed Quidditch player.
McGonagall's brisk knock at the Charms classroom door had Oliver bending guiltily over his parchment. Merlin's Balls, there was no way the stern professor had missed the guilty flurry of students suddenly pretending to be hard at work. She raised her eyebrows at the students but refrained from commenting, instead looking directly at her colleague whose enthusiastic demonstrations had trailed off as he turned to her questioningly.
"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Oliver sank down further in his chair, as the class turned to eye him with avid curiosity. McGonagall raised an eyebrow impatiently, prompting him to collect his things. Oliver followed his head of house from the classroom, but even subdued he still noticed the smirk gracing Pucey's face. "You're for it now" his Slytherin Quidditch rival mouthed gleefully. Scowling back, Oliver searched his memory but couldn't find anything particularly heinous and deserving of being hauled out of class so ignominiously.
Truthfully, Oliver wasn't really one for pranks or too much trouble, his biggest criticism, from parents and teachers alike, was his 'obsession' (their word) with Quidditch, and consequential inability to focus on anything else. But this early in the term he couldn't have already seriously annoyed his teachers with his 'inattention', surely?
The scowl deepened as McGonagall lead him out into the corridor where a nervous first year waited. "Follow me you two," McGonagall ordered and led them to a classroom, empty except for Peeves, where Professor McGonagall wasted no time dismissing the poltergeist.
Absorbed in Quidditch Oliver might be, but even he had noticed the furore surrounding young Potter's arrival at school. The scrawny, anxious looking kid in front of him didn't look like he had taken on You-Know-Who and walked away the victor; quite frankly he looked terrified of McGonagall, let alone any unnamed dark lords.
Oliver focused his attention on the Professor, the kid might be the Boy Who Lived but he didn't particularly want some wee firstie witnessing him getting a dressing down. To his surprise, he found that Professor McGonagall had lost her habitually stern air and was grinning at him, casting pleased glances at the younger boy, "Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker."
What? Oliver's sudden relief that he clearly wasn't in any trouble was quickly overshadowed by delighted interest in the boy stood beside him. McGonagall might be strict, but she wasn't the interfering sort. Generally, she let Gryffindor get on with it, only becoming involved if a problem arose. But the one area where McGonagall couldn't completely restrain her enthusiasm was Quidditch. She didn't try and run practices or anything, but she often stopped to chat with the Quidditch captain about pitch availability, team tactics and Gryffindors chances at the cup. If she liked Potter for the team then Wood certainly wouldn't question her motives and he had no reason to doubt her judgement. A decent Seeker? Please, Merlin. "Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely. The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
The younger boy nodded, his face blank with confusion and lingering anxiety, and McGonagall continued enthusiastically. "He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Oliver's eyes shot to the kid's hands, and the glass ball he was clutching. Smaller than a quaffle, a bit bigger than a snitch. A fifty-foot dive?
He spoke to the boy for the first time, excitedly asking "ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?"
Potter's eyes darted between Oliver and McGonagall, evidently confused.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained quickly, but Oliver was no longer listening to them.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too." Oliver moved to circle Harry, noting his short, skinny frame, light stance and good posture. The younger boy tracked him carefully, and Oliver could have grinned as he saw his prospective Seeker's eyes darting quickly around, watching everything. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."
Professor McGonagall nodded, just as caught up in the enthusiasm as the Quidditch team captain. "I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."
Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. McGonagall had practically raved about Potter, Oliver could hardly wait to get on the pitch and see the kid fly for himself.