Written for the A-Z Challenge, for the letter Q, run by DobbyRocksSocks.
Also written for DobbyRocksSocks, as a companion piece to her story, The First is Always the Most Special, linked in my profile.
Crack!fic, OliverxQuaffle.
His date with Cho Chang had been a disaster. He liked the girl, honestly he did, but she hadn't seemed all that enthralled by him as they sat in Madame Puddifoot's, making small talk over the sweetest tea he had ever tasted. Oliver Wood had tried his best at conversation, but after they'd discussed the finer points of Quidditch tactics, conversation seemed to fizzle out…
Which lead Oliver to where he was now, watching the sun as it set over the stands around the Quidditch Pitch. The Quidditch Pitch was his favourite place to visit. He felt like he could be himself here in a way he couldn't anywhere else. The Quidditch Pitch was his home, and his Broomstick and the Quidditch balls the only companions he needed. He was idly tossing a Quaffle from hand to hand as he sighed, heavily.
"You know, Quaffle, I think you're the only thing in the world that actually understands me," he bemoaned, looking at the Quaffle with sadness in his eyes. He ran his hands over the leathery surface of the ball, cherishing its softness and familiarity.
It wasn't that he didn't understand girls, it was just that they weren't always very interesting. With Quidditch, he always knew where he stood. Even when he did something wrong, he knew what it was and how to fix it. Girls weren't like that. The Quaffle fit so perfectly within his grasp, in a way that Cho Chang never would.
"If I asked you on a date, we'd have a great time, wouldn't we? You wouldn't think my breakdown of the pros and cons of the Wronski Feint were boring," he told the Quaffle, certain of his words. He looked out over the pitch while his eyebrows knitted together in thought.
He looked back to the Quaffle. "That's what I need, isn't it? To find a girl who understands and appreciates me, like you do. If only I could transfigure you into my perfect girlfriend."
He stood, certain in his resolve, and stepped towards the chest the Quaffle had been taken from. He placed the ball in its spot, leather worn away from years of use, with a pang of regret.
Placing the chest away in its cupboard, he sighed once more.
"I'm sorry I have to leave you. I promise I'll be back soon," he told the balls, hoping, for just one moment, that there was a part of them that heard his words.