I planned on writing this chapter and having it up last night, but then my laptop died on my and is refusing to restart, so here it is. Thank you for all of your reviews, I'm so used to, you know, never getting any :D. I actually just dug out my notebook with a complete outline in it (wow I can't believe I ever made an outline for anything) and decided to revamp this story from what I originally intended it to be two years ago. This new direction is much better, trust me, and makes much more sense seeing as most of the events are meant to occur before the first Quidditch match, my outline took this beyond the second and would have ended somewhere completely random and lacking in sense for this story. Anyways, on to the chapter.
Chapter 1:
"Oliver," a soft, melodious voice slurred to Oliver's sleep-ridden ears. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and shook subtly, the voice repeating his name continuously, getting clearer each moment.
"Fred, watch where you're aiming that bludger," Oliver mumbled as he rolled over in his bed, his legs getting entangled in his sheets, "This is my last chance to win the cup!" The hand still rested on his shoulder as the voice grew in volume, the distress upon his body increasing in both speed and intensity.
"Oliver Wood, you wake up this minute," the voice grew stern, achieving a half octave lower pitch than normal. The hand was removed from Oliver's shoulder as he struggled against the fabric wrapping his legs to maneuver his listless body from resting on his side to his stomach. He groaned as his legs were not completely free to move and a soft whisper of 'Wingardium Leviosa' could be heard along with the subtle 'swish' and 'flick' of a cedar wand. Swiftly the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was hovering above his mattress. The golden sheets that were tangled around his legs daintily slid from his legs to the mattress as the mutter of another incantation allowed them to spread themselves across the surface, smooth and even, as if the bed had never been touched.
Making another effort to turn around in his sleep, Oliver screamed in a fury, "Weasly!" His eyes shot open within a fraction of a second, taking a moment to scan over his surroundings, he realized that he was not on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, but rather inside his own Scottish bedroom.
With a slight turn of his head to the left he noticed his mother standing with her wand outstretched in his direction, her left hand resting impatiently on her hip, and her lips drawn into a straight line as she lifted her eyebrows at her son, questioning, "Do you suppose it's about time for you to wake-up? You wouldn't like to be late for your first day of your final year at Hogwarts now would you?"
"Mum," Oliver grumbled, rubbing his eyes and staring confused at the space between him and his bed, "Do you think you could put me down?"
"Only if you promise to get out of bed, grab your trunk, and head downstairs so you can get ready to return to school."
He looked at her with agreement in his dark chestnut eyes. Analyzing his glaze for a moment, she determined that he would keep his word and moved her wand, allowing her son to fall the foot and half distance from his position in the air to his mattress. The impact, although soft and small, startled Oliver, removing all desire to sleep and forcing him out of bed. "Thank you mum," he muttered as she waltzed out of his room contentedly and headed down the stairs to finish making breakfast.
Oliver rolled out of bed, his feet landing shakily on the ground, got dressed in his robes, and began to make his bed. "Two weeks and I could be doing this with magic."
Nodding in approval at the mildly lumpy comforter covering his mattress, Oliver grabbed his brown, well-used trunk and started heaving it out of his doorway and towards the stairwell. With a burly build it was still a difficult task for him to grab his trunk, three times his width, and carry it with ease out of the skinny doorframe. Making his way in front of the trunk, he grabbed a handle and slowly, and loudly dragged the trunk down the wooden stairs, a strident thump resonating through the quaint house.
"Oh ho my boy, are you ready for the final year? That Quidditch Cup will be Gryffindor's this year, I know it," Oliver's dad remarked, cheer and confidence in his deep, joyous voice.
"I sure hope so," Oliver sighed, sitting down across from his father at the table, grabbing the Quidditch features in the Daily Prophet thankfully. Mrs. Wood finished making breakfast and placed a plate in front of both the men, sitting between them with one of her own. Oliver began to fork at his eggs, taking a small heap and placing it in his mouth while continuing to read the Prophet. Coming across an article on Puddlemere United he choked, eyes turning red and watering. His father laughed silently to himself, shaking the table just a bit, knowing what had caught his son's attention.
"What is it?" Oliver's mother questioned, leaning towards her son, trying to see the article he was reading.
"Puddlemere's Keeper is leaving within the next year," Oliver coughed in an attempt to dislodge the eggs from his throat, his words coming out in more of a croak than his typical smooth Scottish accent. "They're going to be using their reserve once he leaves, which means they'll need to start scouting for a new Reserve Keeper." Excitement consumed his voice as his food slid down his throat.
"I'm sure they'll look at Hogwarts my boy," his father assured optimistically, "There's no better Keeper than you, you've got a mighty fine chance." He nodded and looked to his wife for reassurance. "Except," he trailed, "You may have to take a few precautions with that Potter kid of yours."
"What's wrong with Harry? And how will he keep from Puddlemere scouting at Hogwarts?"
"Well nothing's wrong with that Potter chap," Mr. Wood looked weary and glanced at his son from over the metal rim of his glasses, and continued, handing Oliver the front page of the Prophet. "It's just that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. He worked for You-Know-Who and is bound to be after Harry."
Oliver's face dropped, all signs of excitement that were once present now completely vanished. "Great, this means Potter's head won't be in every game as much as I need it to be."
"Oliver, you need to care more for his safety than whether he's completely focused on the Snitch or not," his mother interjected, her eyebrows furrowing.
"I know mum, but we're still going to need him at his best," he sighed, "I guess I'll just have to keep an extra keen eye on him this year."
Chatter of Harry and whether his safety or Quidditch mindset was most important continued between Oliver and his mum, as Mr. Wood continued to try and lift the spirits with the Puddlemere news, or else excitement towards Oliver's upcoming birthday.
Breakfast ended on a quiet but content note, as Oliver prepared for his return to Hogwarts filled with excitement, anticipation, and daydreams of finally winning the Quidditch Cup.