AN: This is my first fanfic so I'm sorry if it's not the best but constructive criticism would be appreciated :) I know the chapters are quite short, but its just where they end best and I do update fast hehee :) I'd love to hear what you all think. Thanks for reading!
Written for the Clue Prank Competition. Prompts: Oliver Wood, Relashio and Hogsmeade Post Office.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
The Prank That Delivered, Chapter 1: Pay Attention
Fred and George had quidditch practice for the fifth time that week. They were hoping to get the night off as it was the last Friday before the October half term holiday but with their match against Slytherin only a few days away, their team captain Oliver Wood had become more relentless than ever.
Tonight was the worst night of the week. As well as having to practice whilst the rest of the Gryffindors were holding a party in the common room, the weather was the worst it had been all week. Sheets of rain sliced through the air like knife blades, soaking the team to their skin in a matter of seconds and plastering their dripping hair to the sides of their heads. The wind whipped around them, faster and faster as their brooms rose up cautiously into the air. A mist was creeping steadily over them, as was darkness. Visibility became so poor that George nearly hit Harry over the head when he mistook him for a bludger.
Oliver reluctantly called off the practice when he realised they were all struggling to keep themselves on their brooms and none of them could see any further than a few inches in front of their face. Amplifying his voice with his wand, he yelled across the pitch for his team to return to the changing rooms.
Sighing with relief Fred and George lowered their brooms to the ground and hastily dismounted, hurrying towards the warmth of the changing rooms.
'It's gonna take more than a few warming charms before I'll be able to feel my toes tonight.' George muttered to Fred, gesturing to his mud-caked feet.
Fred nodded in agreement, his teeth chattering too much for him to reply. As they waded through the vast muddy puddle that the ground had now become they both thought longingly of the cosy Gryffindor common room with its inviting fire and snug armchairs, where they hoped they would soon be heading.
Much to the team's disappointment though, it seemed that Oliver wanted to continue to train but by talking through tactics rather than in the practical sense. When they had made their way through the murky fog and entered the changing rooms it was to see that Oliver had created a complex diagram of the quidditch pitch with lots of different dots and squiggles moving rapidly over the paper in complicated patterns.
Fred and George slumped in their seats, preparing for a long-winded speech during which Oliver would exhaust them with the large number of sequences of moves they were supposed to learn off by heart.
About ten minutes in, George was beginning to get some of the feeling back in his fingers, but boredom had now set in and he felt his eyelids drooping slowly. He jerked them open again when he felt Fred's head lolling heavily onto his shoulder. He quickly tried to shake him awake before Oliver noticed, but Fred was not happy about being disturbed and started mumbling incoherently, as he looked around, frowning grumpily. Hearing him, Oliver whirled around to face the team and noticed that most of them were either falling asleep or trying not to.
'Weasley!' He yelled, making all of them jump. 'Johnson!' He continued to shout, anger towards his fellow teammates filling him. 'Pay attention.' He bellowed. 'I did not spend five hours coming up with our game plan for the Slytherin match so you could all take a nap instead of concentrating on exactly how we are going to knock them slimy leaches off the top spot and claim the trophy for the Gryffindors!'
'We know, we want to win too. It's just that... its late, we're cold, wet and tired and we've missed the party.' George reasoned.
'I don't care!' Oliver spat, brushing off Alicia as she tried to calm him. 'If you want to go to the party next time, you'll have to leave the team.' With that he spun around and stalked off, only looking back when he reached the door. 'I expect you all here at 9am tomorrow. Don't be late.' He growled over his shoulder before slamming the door on all of them.
The team looked around at each other, slightly shocked by Oliver's outburst but, too worn out to do anything about it; they swiftly got changed and headed back up to the castle without a word, each of them wondering what tomorrow's quidditch practice would have in store for them.