Disclaimer: All recognizable content belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. No money is being made from this.
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Oliver Wood loves Quidditch. He always has, and always will. He knows all of the teams that play in the UK, knows what ball does what, and all of the rules. He's the one to go to when you need help telling apart who is who up in they sky.
His obsession began when he was only a young child. He was simply fascinated with the sport, the brooms and everything in between. He tried to learn everything before he reached Hogwarts, even practiced playing the sport so he could make it on the team.
Third year was his lucky year. That was the year he decided to be a true Gryffindor. That was the year he tried out for the team, and he made it. He was so proud of himself, so proud that his extensive knowledge served a purpose.
But as he sits on the bench in the locker room, he can't help but feel a pit in the bottom of his stomach. He's beyond nervous; what if his talent fails him? What if he messes up his position as keeper?
"Alright team! Huddle up!" The captain shouts, and he feels like he's going to hurl. He picks himself off the bench, and stumbles towards the rest of the players— seven of them including himself. The captain speaks fast, or maybe he simply can't hear right because he's so nervous, and in the moment everything is completely muted out except for the cry of "Go Gryffindor!" that erupts from the team.
Suddenly he is walking with the rest of them, broom in his right hand, out towards the pitch. They're versing Hufflepuff today, who nearly always lose against Gryffindor. (He had overheard that in the library as he was completing his homework.)
There is a "whoo!" from the crowd and he can't help himself as a grin widens across his face. He looks up and around the pitch. Every house is united here, about to watch them play the first game of the year, across this huge pitch that is at least four times as large as a football field.
With a deep breath of air, they walk out and mount their brooms. Everyone begins to head to their place I'm the sky, including himself. He gives a small wave towards the opposing Hufflepuff keeper across the field, and he can just make out a glare. 'Alright, don't be friendly then,' he thinks to himself, the thrill of this experience building up to a point where he could scream with excitement.
He's made it this far. It isn't too far, but it's possibly his first step to making it to a professional team. Adrenaline pulses through his veins. The crowd is watching, leaning over the barriers so much he's surprised someone hasn't fallen off the side yet.
He watches Madame Hooch stride out into the center of the field. In her hands is the chest that hold the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the Snitch. Time is passing by so slow as she unlocks the chest. Next, she undoes the bludgers, which immediately zoom out and to a certain part of the field. Next, the snitch has flown off, out of sight for now.
Here is his time. He watches her, slightly impatiently, as takes the red quaffle and raises it in the air, her whistle already in her mouth.
She throws the quaffle up, and the game begins!
His heart is racing; his blood is pumping so hard in his ears, he can hear them buzzing. He watches the quaffle being passed around from chaser to chaser. Here it comes, one of the Hufflepuff's coming over and all he can do is stare. It's so close.
There are three hoops he must defend. Which one the Hufflepuff chaser will go for is unknown. He tried to keep an eye on her as she dodges a bludger that nearly knocks her off her broom.
With that, he's off. He dips underneath her, smacking the quaffle out of her hand as he does so. He tosses it into the air, about to hit it with the tail end of his broom when there is a sudden hush of the crowd.
They're watching him. It's too small of a time span to actually comprehend that they're looking at him. He's already flown up into the air, and spun his broom and hit the quaffle towards a Gryffindor chaser. The silence isn't a bad thing— because after that little move, everyone erupts with cheers.
He smiles. He had been practicing that move since he became fascinated with Quidditch. He flies back towards his rings, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the Hufflepuff chaser, who mumbles a good job and flies off to chase the quaffle.
Gryffindor is winning 50-20. They've been playing for about 20 minutes now. Everything is going rather smoothly until the seekers begin to chase a near invisible flash of gold I'm the sky. They begin to fly faster than anyone he has ever seen fly. They go up and down, weaving in between the players on the pitch and going so far as out towards the lake and back. It's almost as if there are two different games going on at the same time, and he is becoming distracted.
"Ten points to Hufflepuff!" The commentator yells enthusiastically as the same chaser who he had taken the ball from scores a goal. He silently curses himself as he tells himself not to get distracted by the seekers, but something catches his eye.
As he watches them dive and attempt to grasp the winged ball, he notices the Hufflepuff seeker take out his wand. No one else is watching them, however, since they are further away from the pitch. But he has a clear view of them, up in the sky, and hears a faint 'Reducto!' Come from the seeker.
No one else has seen what has happened— what is happening. The spell was directed towards the end of the Gryffindor's broom, and he is now spiraling at 40 miles per hour towards the ground,mine tail of his broom ablaze.
Everyone is preoccupied on the other side of the field. Madame Hooch is right there, next to the commentator. They are less than twenty feet away.
So, as fast as he can fly, he speeds off towards them, the commentator speaking everything he is doing. He decides to ignore him, and begins to speak hastily.
"Madame, the seekers... The Hufflepuff, he... Reducto... It's banned!" He pants out, pointing frantically towards where the Hufflepuff seeker is. He the rushes back towards his spot, looking down towards the ground.
The Gryffindor seeker is obviously hurt. He is lying near motionless on the ground, his face blurred from his vision. He has to squint in order to see what facial expression he is making.
Madame Hooch has rushed out into the field, and the Hufflepuff seeker... Has the snitch. "Parker has caught the snitch! Hufflepuff wins!"
The Gryffindor team dismounts their brooms with disappointment. This was their first game of the season, and they had blown it. Madame Hooch has, however, huddled up the Hufflepuff team, which for reasons go unknown to everyone except for Oliver.
All the seeker receives is detention for a month. He had endangered another student, and using your wand was against the rules of Quidditch. Points are taken from his house, the amount they had gained, and given to Gryffindor. Hufflepuff has still won the match, however.
It's a few hours later when they go and visit the seeker. His name is Walden Tyler, and he is a fifth year. He says he tried to avoid the spell, but wasn't able to. He only remembers going down and being taken to the hospital wing, where he had to drink a disgusting batch of Skele—Gro for his shattered shoulder. The poor teen was going to go through a rough night.
As Oliver lies in bed that night, he has made up his mind; he did the right thing. He had at least gotten Hufflepuff in trouble a little, was able to reclaim those points, and decided that this was how Quidditch was— this was how he liked his life. Exciting.
As he turns on his side with exhaustion, he slowly begins to drift off to sleep, when suddenly he remembers; he still has his helmet on.
A/N: Written for the Scrabble Bonuses Competition in the HPFC Forum.