"Oliver Wood, this is your new Chaser," Professor McGonagall insisted. Oliver had been pulled out of his class for the second time in his school career by Professor McGonagall, both times to inform him of changes she had forcefully been making to his Quidditch team. Mind you, the choices were never made poorly, he just felt as if he had less power as time progressed. Standing in front of the professor was a very small girl. She looked no older than thirteen and could have easily passed for eleven. She had a very round face and light brown bob cut which had a single attempt at a pony tail protruding from the back. Her bangs covered a majority of the upper half of her face and only when she had pushed the hair aside could he see her large brown eyes. Her whole face appeared rounder than necessary which added to the fact that she looked like a child. To top it all off, she hadn't changed into her robes yet and was wearing a brightly colored t-shirt with over sized jeans. Oliver looked up at McGonagall skeptically. Was she entirely serious with this decision? "This is Corrine McMichael. She has now officially transferred to Hogwarts as of this year. Having lived in Canada not very long ago, she's never had proper training. You see, there are no Wizarding schools in Canada. Therefore, her education in magic will be very limited. However, she is aware of her capabilities as a witch." Oliver decided to go along with this, trying to see the path McGonagall was aiming for.

"Has she ever ridden a broom?" he asked.

"No, but she's willing to learn." She couldn't have been serious. Oliver was now expected to train a Chaser from scratch? It would have been simpler to hold try outs for a new one at the school. "Now, don't you even start thinking about getting rid of her. Her position on the team is set. Once you begin her training, you will understand exactly why I choose her. She was handpicked for her skills Mr. Wood." Giving in, Oliver asked more general questions. "She's a seventh year here and has already been sorted into Gryffindor. That was merely luck. Of course I did my best to make certain that her personality would make Gryffindor but there was no guaranteeing it." Oliver stopped listening after she said 'seventh year'. This small girl standing in front of him was seventeen. Corrine noticed the expression on Oliver's face and became immediately annoyed. "Well then, I'll leave you two to that. Mr. Wood, you have been excused from the remainder of your History of Magic lesson in order to train your new Chaser." With that, she smiled and walked off. Oliver rubbed the back of his neck nervously, unsure of his next step.

"Well, I suppose we should get down to the Quidditch pitch," he mumbled. Corrine rolled her eyes and led the way. "A bloody seventh year…"

"I can hear you!" she called out from in front of him. Her voice was oddly deep and sounded much older than she looked, also taking notice of the Canadian accent she supported. He blushed, embarrassed by his rude comment and sped up to keep up with her. "Look," she began, never looking in his direction, "I get that you don't want me here. Frankly, I don't care. But I can ask someone else to teach me. I mean, I get the whole idea anyways." He shook his head.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. It's not that I don't want you on the team it's just that, you're just so unqualified to do this. Maybe if I had some sort of idea as to why you're here…" He prompted her to talk about herself. Sighing, she stopped walking and looked up at Oliver.

"I play softball." She said the statement as if it was suppose to be the clearest explanation. In all honesty, he had never heard of the darned thing. "It's a muggle sport where you hit a small ball with a bat and then run around bases." Oliver still failed to see any connection of the game to Quidditch, especially her position as Chaser. "The team who isn't running has to be standing around waiting to catch the ball and throw it at other players to get the runners out. It's a bit complicated to explain to you." She was using all sorts of odd hand gestures and expressions. She clearly loved the strange sport and was very passionate about it; almost as passionate as he was with Quidditch. Nodding slowly, he put the pieces together in his head.

"So that must mean you have great accuracy for throwing."

"I can catch too." She winked at him. Her playful personality was completely contradicting with the harshness he had witnessed only seconds earlier. The whole encounter was getting more and more bizarre.

"It sounds like you already know a lot about Quidditch." It was her turn to blush, though he couldn't figure out why. They had begun to walk again, taking an even pace, matching each other's strides. Of course this meant that Corrine was taking very large steps.

"I only know from watching." Oliver smiled gratefully.

"That's a great start." At least she wasn't totally incompetent about the sport. It gave him something to build off of. He remembered Harry in his first year of Quidditch. He had never even heard of the sport. But admittedly, Oliver had never had a better Seeker. He would have less explaining to do with Corrine.

The pitch was muddied from the morning rain but the sun shone, drying the damp ground. Oliver had already picked up the set of Quidditch balls from the equipment shed and readied them for demonstration. Corrine stood impatiently, surveying the field. He first removed a large burgundy ball roughly the size of her head. He began his explanation without warning.

"Alright so, Quidditch has seven people on a team. A Keeper, that's me, a seeker, two beaters and three chasers. Following me so far?" She nodded. "Alright, so this is a Quaffle, which is the only ball you'll have to be worried about. Well, you're going to want to watch out for the Beaters of course, nasty little buggers they are, but this is all yours."He tossed the red ball at her. She lobbed the ball between her hands, feeling and testing the weight. Oliver opened his hands, motioning for her to throw the ball back to her. Bringing the ball to her chest with both hands, she whipped the ball at him. He was surprised at the velocity of the throw and it almost threw him off balance. "Wow." Corrine smirked, happy that she was able to shock him. "So, let me quickly show you the Bludgers and the Snitch and we can start practicing throwing around the Quaffle before getting onto the broom." She still had that smug smile on her face, clearly very confident with her skills. He picked up a bat and tossed it to Corrine. She seemed confused by the need for it. "You'll want this. These Bludgers are nasty little things. They've been charmed to try and hit the players. That bat is what the Beaters use to keep them under control."

"Ok, I've got this," she whispered, her voice contorted into concentration and she readied herself to hit the ball, swinging the bat in a large circle behind her head. Oliver brought his attention to the shaking case at his feet. He could feel the adrenaline running in his stomach as he always had when he released the Bludgers. He remembered his first game. Getting out onto the pitch, he only lasted two minutes before getting hit in the head with a Bludger. It put him in the Hospital Wing for a week. As soon as he unlatched the chains holding one of the Bludgers down, the small brown ball went whizzing straight into the air, nearly smacking him in the face. Slowly standing, he searched the skies and so had Corrine. She had lowered her bat. Oliver chuckled at her frustrated and worried expression, deeming her quite adorable. Suddenly, a whizzing sound could be heard from behind him. Turning around, he saw the Bludger speeding towards Corrine. He called out to her but by the time she heard, the Bludger had flown into the left side of her stomach. He could hear a scream come from her lips before she fell limp to the ground. Picking up the bat, Oliver hit the Bludger into a random direction away from Corrine's body when it had come back around to hit her again. He glanced quickly in her direction, noting that she moaned and rolled so he tried to pay attention to the Bludger. It came whirring back at him and he caught it in his stomach and weighed it down with the rest of his body while making his way over to the chest. After re-caging the Bludger, he ran back over to Corrine's wilted body. She had rolled over so that she was facing upwards now, moaning in pain and holding her ribcage.

"Damn, you alright there Corrine?" She muttered something unintelligible. "Speak up, I can't hear you.

"I hate those bloody little shits." He was taken aback by her surprisingly foul mouth. Suddenly, he began laughing, completely amused at how daring she was. Grudgingly, she sat up and chuckled at the encounter.

"Are you alright to keep going for a while?" Oliver asked, not wanting to interrupt his explanation but also not wanting to hinder her. She was, after all, supposed to be his best Chaser.

"I'll be fine, just a bruise," she said, rubbing her side. Her actions spoke differently than her words.

"Lift up the side of your shirt," he instructed. Her eyes widened and her face reddened. How else did she expect him to check on her wounds? She should have been grateful he was asking. Slowly and carefully, she lifted up a small portion of her shirt, making sure not to reveal more than necessary. He rolled his eyes before they landed on the bright red gash on her side. He gasped. "That is not 'fine'." There was no blood but it certainly seemed like the Bludger had broken a couple of her lower ribs. They were on the verge of tearing skin. "Hospital wing. Now. Don't rub it like that!" Huffing, he put one hand on her back and the other under her legs and picked her up with ease. She could have been no more than a hundred pounds. She winced at the sudden movement. Oliver could imagine with the positioning that the rib was jabbing into a different part of her body, but this was the fastest way to move her. "Sorry about that," he muttered apologizing for much more than her broken ribs. She didn't seem to pay attention to his apology and instead, grasped his Quidditch uniform tightly, trying to hold in her sobs of pain. He was tempted to hold her tighter to his chest but that would have only increased her pain. The best he could do for her now was get to the Hospital wing.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Oliver called out, "I've got an injured student. A couple of broken ribs I think." Madam Pomfrey rushed over, whispering to herself. She pointed to an empty cot and Oliver placed Corrine down as softly as he could.

"A quick fix. Fixing bones will be easy. Be glad you didn't lose 'em. Mending bones I can do, re-growing them is a different case. " She was walking back and forth between about five different students, telling off most of them about how they had come to arrive at the Hospital wing. Of course she cared for them all in due time, but it didn't mean she couldn't lecture them as well. All this time, Oliver noted Corrine's strange silence. There was no trace of the playful Corrine he had seen only moments before. She had seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself until being injured. Her face was emotionless and she only winced slightly when the pain had reached a certain peak.

"You sure you're alright?" Oliver asked, taking a seat on the side of the bed. She nodded, not making eye contact with him. There was a long pause between the two of them.

"Here you are deary. Drink up." Madam Pomfrey had returned with a glass of thick grey liquid. It looked absolutely revolting. Corrine made a face, clearly indicating her disgust, and sniffed the glass, making another face.

"What is it?" Corrine asked, her playful side resurfacing.

"It's not pumpkin juice, I can tell you that." She looked over at Oliver worriedly. He shrugged.

"Bottoms up." Oliver tipped the bottom of the glass into her mouth. The face she made was priceless.

After leaving the Hospital wing, Corrine was both amazed and annoyed by her treatment.

"That was the vilest and most disgusting thing I have ever had!" she complained. The potion she had taken obviously did not sit well with her system. She threw up twice and had to take it a third time to make it sit.

"Well it probably would have been better if you drank it properly," Oliver commented, clearly amused by her rage. He much preferred Corrine when she was rowdy as opposed to the quieter version of her he had seen when she first sat on the cot. He made a note to ask her about that later. Corrine shuddered at the remembrance of the potion.

"I'm just glad I'm all fixed up. And just in time for dinner too!" Her stomach growled and she looked up at Oliver. "It is dinner time right." Oliver glanced down at a non-existent watch.

"Yep, I'd say it's about that time of the evening." A large smile formed on Corrine's childish face and she went off skipping towards the dining hall. Laughing, he ran after her. She was definitely an interesting character. Suddenly stopping, she turned around and slowly walked towards Oliver. He stopped as well, curious of her actions. She embraced her tightly around his neck. Shocked by the sudden act of affection, he wrapped his hands around her waist, returning the hug. She whispered in his ear before letting go and skipping off again.

"Thank you."

"Oliver it's too early," Corrine moaned. Oliver had dragged her out onto the Quidditch pitch before classes started to finish their practice. Gryffindor's next game was in less than two weeks. They had very little time to prepare. He still had to teach her the team's strategies and techniques, let alone how to play Quidditch at all.

"Well it's either now, or after dinner." That jolted her up. Even though she hadn't attended any classes yet, she didn't desire to let her free time go. "Don't worry, we won't be doing anything too difficult right now. I'll just show you the Snitch and we'll throw the Quaffle around. That sound tolerable for you?" She nodded, too tired to speak up unless it was to complain. "Good." The chest was at his feet again. He removed the Snitch from the center of the chest and brought the golden metal sphere to her. "This is the Snitch. Wicked fast and damn near impossible to catch. This is for the Seeker to worry about. Once they catch the Snitch, the game's over." Corrine reached out to the Snitch but Oliver pulled it away. "You'll see it in action on the field. I don't think we'll be able to get this one back into the chest if we let it out."

"Oh, alright," she replied, only slightly disappointed. "Do we get to throw the Quaffle now?" He nodded. He tossed the ball at her.

"You have to throw it with one hand since the other hand will be on the broom." Lobbing the ball between her hands, she weighed it primarily in her right hand before pulling her hand back with the ball in hand and whipping it forward at Oliver's stomach. It wasn't as much as a surprise as the first time she threw the Quaffle. "Again," he said, tossing it back to her. She tried a different style of throw that time. She switched between her left and right hand, testing the different angles of throws and odd positioning. By the end of their practice, she was prancing around the field, throwing from great distances and laughing. Eventually Oliver stopped the practice. He was laughing so hard that her throws were becoming increasingly dangerous. She jogged back to him.

"A good laugh is healthy for early mornings!" she called out to him. "Really wakes you up, don't it?" Without halting his laughter, Oliver nodded.

"You are absolutely ridiculous!" Corrine bowed.

"Thank you, thank you." Bursting out into laughter once more, she reached out to Oliver for support, unable to balance herself. They both fell to the ground into fits of giggles. As their laughter finally subsided, the two of them lie their silently, enjoying the pregnant pause that had formed. It felt as if, for the first time in his life, he had found something that made him feel more alive than Quidditch.