~*~
Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want
to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an
animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all
entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
C.S. Lewis
~*~
Oliver Wood stared out at the empty field in front of him. It was 5:30 am and the cool, green expanse of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Quidditch pitch lay perfectly still and completely untouched, as of yet. It was breezeless and the muggy morning air hung over him like a blanket. Here, hidden from the rest of his school, Oliver pondered his situation.
This was his last chance. No room for failing again.
His eyes scanned the empty field. He knelt down and scooped up a pile of dirt, letting the grains fall from his hand back down. He slowly smiled.
Perfect Quidditch conditions.
Perfect winning conditions.
He stood up and looked to his right; the first signs of day break were beginning to show.
~*~
Harry Potter was soaring. He felt the wind rush through his hair, his heart beating, and the natural agility of his body as he continued to escalate. He felt the balance of his broomstick beneath him. His broomstick. The one thing in the world he could always rely on to take him away from his trouble. It was sturdy, sure, an unrelenting beacon of light for him. No one could touch him up here.
Which was why it was somewhat of a surprise when he felt a shove on his right shoulder. He looked around bewildered as the shoving continued. Slowly but surely he was losing his grip on the handle of his broomstick. And then he began to slide downward.
"LET ME BACK ON MY BROOM!" Harry screamed frantically searching for the source of the incessant shoving.
"Right then mate, that's the Quidditch spirit!"
And suddenly, Oliver Wood's head appeared in the sky next to him, proudly bobbing up and down.
"Exemplary Quidditch player, that's what you are, just can't wait to get on your broom and play, can you?" Oliver's head said while beaming appreciatively at Harry.
Slowly letting reality sink in, Harry realized that he was not, in fact, on the Quidditch pitch with his broomstick. He was, instead, in his dormitory with one Oliver Wood in full Quidditch gear standing above him, grinning happily.
"Er--yea...that's it," said Harry smiling weakly back up at Oliver. Even if it was 6:30 in the morning and the only thing that Harry wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go back to his dreams, he couldn't stand to burst Oliver's bubble.
"Right then, get dressed and I'll see you downstairs in 10 minutes," said Oliver.
~*~
Katie Bell had once wanted to be a ballerina. When she saw sinewy dancers move for the first time it had been like poetry and she would have given anything to move like that beautiful Swan Princess. So her mother had signed her up for dance classes and for two blissful days Katie Bell had felt grace for the first time in her life.
Then her dance teacher had decided that she was too much of a hazard to the rest of her students. Because, you see, Katie Bell had the incredible knack for falling. And when Katie Bell fell, she didn't just fall. She went down and she took everyone within a five foot radius down with her. So when the rest of the girls began ducking for cover whenever Katie so much as pleaed, Katie's dance teacher had but her foot down.
That had been the end of Katie Bell's career as a professional ballerina.
And the beginning of her career as a Quidditch player.
Because the next year Katie was invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there she discovered Quidditch for the first time. Quidditch was her Swan Lake.
Because the moment she kicked off from the ground, at the first feeling of wind rushing through her hair, Katie was in her own rights a dancer. As she weaved through players and over obstacles, she moved with a natural grace. With an agility that made it hard for her to figure out where she started and where her broom ended. In unison with her other Chasers, she was moving to the rhythm of her own kind of ballet. A ballet where the awkwardness of her body was left a hundred feet below on the ground.
It was beyond her what exactly it was about Quidditch that replaced her gawky stumbling on ground with the able nimbleness of flying. She didn't know if the was the sky, or the height, or the sensation of flying, all she knew was that Quidditch gave her true grace for the first time, and for that she would always love it.
And she had always loved it. Until now.
Because right now, she was exhausted. It had been four straight hours of nonstop Quidditch. Nonstop Quidditch in the rain. Nonstop Quidditch in the rain against Slytherin. It was the sort of combination of events that dampened the sprits of even the most fanatical of Quidditch maniacs.
"Bell! Are you mad? Where's your head at? That's the sixth pass in a row that you've dropped! This isn't practice! We're playing a match! And by Merlin, I plan on winning it! So get your act together and score some points!"
Unless of course you're Oliver Wood.
~*~
But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
C.S. Lewis
~*~
Oliver Wood stared out at the empty field in front of him. It was 5:30 am and the cool, green expanse of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Quidditch pitch lay perfectly still and completely untouched, as of yet. It was breezeless and the muggy morning air hung over him like a blanket. Here, hidden from the rest of his school, Oliver pondered his situation.
This was his last chance. No room for failing again.
His eyes scanned the empty field. He knelt down and scooped up a pile of dirt, letting the grains fall from his hand back down. He slowly smiled.
Perfect Quidditch conditions.
Perfect winning conditions.
He stood up and looked to his right; the first signs of day break were beginning to show.
~*~
Harry Potter was soaring. He felt the wind rush through his hair, his heart beating, and the natural agility of his body as he continued to escalate. He felt the balance of his broomstick beneath him. His broomstick. The one thing in the world he could always rely on to take him away from his trouble. It was sturdy, sure, an unrelenting beacon of light for him. No one could touch him up here.
Which was why it was somewhat of a surprise when he felt a shove on his right shoulder. He looked around bewildered as the shoving continued. Slowly but surely he was losing his grip on the handle of his broomstick. And then he began to slide downward.
"LET ME BACK ON MY BROOM!" Harry screamed frantically searching for the source of the incessant shoving.
"Right then mate, that's the Quidditch spirit!"
And suddenly, Oliver Wood's head appeared in the sky next to him, proudly bobbing up and down.
"Exemplary Quidditch player, that's what you are, just can't wait to get on your broom and play, can you?" Oliver's head said while beaming appreciatively at Harry.
Slowly letting reality sink in, Harry realized that he was not, in fact, on the Quidditch pitch with his broomstick. He was, instead, in his dormitory with one Oliver Wood in full Quidditch gear standing above him, grinning happily.
"Er--yea...that's it," said Harry smiling weakly back up at Oliver. Even if it was 6:30 in the morning and the only thing that Harry wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go back to his dreams, he couldn't stand to burst Oliver's bubble.
"Right then, get dressed and I'll see you downstairs in 10 minutes," said Oliver.
~*~
Katie Bell had once wanted to be a ballerina. When she saw sinewy dancers move for the first time it had been like poetry and she would have given anything to move like that beautiful Swan Princess. So her mother had signed her up for dance classes and for two blissful days Katie Bell had felt grace for the first time in her life.
Then her dance teacher had decided that she was too much of a hazard to the rest of her students. Because, you see, Katie Bell had the incredible knack for falling. And when Katie Bell fell, she didn't just fall. She went down and she took everyone within a five foot radius down with her. So when the rest of the girls began ducking for cover whenever Katie so much as pleaed, Katie's dance teacher had but her foot down.
That had been the end of Katie Bell's career as a professional ballerina.
And the beginning of her career as a Quidditch player.
Because the next year Katie was invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there she discovered Quidditch for the first time. Quidditch was her Swan Lake.
Because the moment she kicked off from the ground, at the first feeling of wind rushing through her hair, Katie was in her own rights a dancer. As she weaved through players and over obstacles, she moved with a natural grace. With an agility that made it hard for her to figure out where she started and where her broom ended. In unison with her other Chasers, she was moving to the rhythm of her own kind of ballet. A ballet where the awkwardness of her body was left a hundred feet below on the ground.
It was beyond her what exactly it was about Quidditch that replaced her gawky stumbling on ground with the able nimbleness of flying. She didn't know if the was the sky, or the height, or the sensation of flying, all she knew was that Quidditch gave her true grace for the first time, and for that she would always love it.
And she had always loved it. Until now.
Because right now, she was exhausted. It had been four straight hours of nonstop Quidditch. Nonstop Quidditch in the rain. Nonstop Quidditch in the rain against Slytherin. It was the sort of combination of events that dampened the sprits of even the most fanatical of Quidditch maniacs.
"Bell! Are you mad? Where's your head at? That's the sixth pass in a row that you've dropped! This isn't practice! We're playing a match! And by Merlin, I plan on winning it! So get your act together and score some points!"
Unless of course you're Oliver Wood.
~*~