A/N: First two chapters going up in one day? Yes, I know, I'm ahead of myself. But I've had these written, and I'm eager to get them out now that I've got to editing them. Expect the third chapter tonight, as well. It's the first bit I wrote for this story, so I hope you'll like it.
Charlie pulled up out of his dive quickly, at the last second, flying parallel to the ground before stepping off his broom. Eye darting to the castle, bathed in clouds, then to the Quidditch pitch, the lake, and the locker rooms, Oliver didn't think to pull up until the last second. His flight had been systematically excecuted, practically designed for efficiency until this moment. The speed of his decent rendered the soft grass useless and Oliver's feet hit the packed dirt of the ground hard. It was years of experience, the practiced bend of his knees, that absorbed the shock of the landing and kept him from injury.
"This way." Charlie kept on, barely sparing a look back at Oliver before leading towards the Quidditch pitch. The redhead took the broom Oliver had borrowed and leaned it against the wall of the facilities with him own. Oliver found himself wanting to veer towards the locker rooms, and through them onto the pitch itself, where he had practiced and played for years. But he was lead on a less familiar route, up into the stands. He had watched every game from the stands his first year. After that, he watched the other houses play each other, spotting the players he had to look out for when it was Gryffindor's turn to take the pitch. The wooden stands, rebuilt after fiendfyre burnt it to the ground just a few years ago, felt as rickety as they always had. Now, mostly empty, Oliver felt that they swayed less under his weight.
Following his old captain, Oliver made his way up the many steps, towards the top of the stands. He couldn't remember ever seeing Charlie here; in his mind, Charlie was still weaving across the sky messily, captain's whistle hanging unused around his neck. Talented, but less of a disciplinarian that Oliver was when it came his turn to lead. Charlie had worked hard, of course, but Oliver always felt the sole of the second eldest Weasley's talent seemed to come inherently. They flew, and led, quite differently.
"Here." Stopping at the highest seat, Charlie shuffled his way in and sat on the bench, grinning. "Best seats in the house."
It would have been a great seat for a game, but practices tended to stay lower to the ground. The Gryffindor team was a series of faceless, vaguely crimson figures from this high- a spot only good for observing strategy, Oliver thought as he sat down. Glancing towards the stairs, Oliver saw that the rest of their group had arrived and thought better of the spot's function. The team would pay a group of nostalgic adults no mind, but if they could see their faces, identify them as a handful of Order of the Pheonix war heroes and a professional Quidditch player, there might be a scene. As it were, the group making its way towards them was making enough noise to draw the attention of anyone within a kilometer. It seemed they had picked up a few people on the way.
Percy led, the only silent member of the group. Behind him was George, talking animatedly at his older brother and dragging Angelina by her hand. She was turned around, almost backwards, telling something to to Katie Bell, who was laughing at whatever it was Angelina was saying, her head thrown back and her feet taking the steps by memory. Oliver hadn't seen Katie looking that happy in a long time- but, to be fair, he hadn't see her at all in a long time. Suddenly she shook away her laughter and looked forward, meeting Oliver's eyes. She turned a corner of her mouth upwards and lifted her hand in a polite greeting as the front of their group arrived at the top row.
"Ol!" George called as they neared. "We brought you a present!"
Oliver scoffed and looked away from Bell, turning his attention to George. Percy was pressed into the seat next to Oliver, proving the latter's assumption incorrect.
"The Honorable Head Boy of 1993 has Saturday's off. Tore him away from his weekend work so the two of you could enjoy a reunion."
Percy offered Oliver his hand, the smile on his face the picture of business-professional politeness that Wood had come to expect of his old roommate. It wasn't false; Percy greeted as Oliver flew- practiced, calculated, but not falsely. They shook hands, and Oliver quickly put a kind arm around the redhead's shoulder in greeting. "It's been too long, Perce."
"It has. The Ministry has been keeping me busy with all the changes. The reform is necessary, of course, but rebuilding means extra work. The Minister has been leaning heavily on my department-"
"Kingsley would give you a year off if you asked." George climbed over the bench in front of them and took the seat in front of Charlie. "I can't imagine Magical Transportation is at the front of his mind."
"Leave Percy alone." Angelina slid into row, right beside George, and leaned over the bench to pull Oliver into a hug. She ruffled his hair, as she was wont to do, and gave him a warm smile as she pulled away. "Can't blame him. We're all just trying to impress Oliver."
"Speak for yourself." Katie sat, leaving space between herself and George for Angelina to sit, when she was down being the diplomat of the group. Her eyes were already on pitch, but when she spoke, she smiled once again. "I gave up on that my second day of practice."
"That's one more day than the rest of it." Angelina chuckled once and took her seat.
"But Percy has always been an overachiever. Never give up, do you, Perce?" George piped up once more, though everyone's eyes were now glued to the pitch. Even Percy, who had never shown an interest in Quidditch, seemed to have committed to staring at the practicing Gryffindor team. Even Oliver, not usually perceptive, could see the red of his old roommate's cheeks. He remembered the old rumors of Percy's crush, which was spread, he was almost certain, by Fred and George themselves. It was false, Oliver was sure, but he knew it had existed far before he heard about it in their sixth year. It embarrassed Percy, who had been, despite his strict enforcement of rule and occasionally condescending attitude toward's Oliver's athletic ambitions, a good friend.
"How's Penelope?" Oliver brought up the only non-Ministry related subject he could think of to change the subject and directed it at Percy, his eyes moving back to the pitch.
"Oh- well, we broke up." Percy fidgeted, but quickly controlled the uncouth movement.
"I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"It was a long time ago. A few years, actually. She works at the Ministry, so I do see her from time to time. Somewhere in magical creature registration- administration, mind you, not out in the field. She's always been very organized."
Oliver nodded, accepting that this factual update was Percy's idea of waxing nostalgic, and turned back to the pitch.
"I reckon they've got a chance this year- Seeker's quite good," Charlie said after a minute or two.
"He's no Harry Potter," replied George, grumbling. "And catching the Snitch won't help if their Keeper can't keep the goal line clear."
"That Keeper has had his eyes on the Snitch since his feet left the ground," Oliver added. "I think they moved him from Seeker. Looks like he's not used to the position. He should be on the reserves, not on the field. You can't have a Seeker playing Keeper."
"Armchair captains, the lot of you," Angelina said, and leaned against George's side. "Why don't you go show them a thing or two, Wood, if you're so sure?"
"The problem is," Katie butted in quickly, to Oliver's relief, "we never watch any of the other practices. None of you have a clue how they's stack up against Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff until you start showing up to those practices, too."
Charlie guffawed. "Hufflepuff was never a problem."
"You didn't have to play Diggory," Wood added. "Hell of a player, and he trained a good team. Stayed good for a while- Hufflepuff almost took the cup from us because of him, even two years after the Triwizard Tournament."
The group was quiet. It took Oliver a second to realize why, but it was too late to backtrack. He had been accused more than once in his life of putting Qudditch before safety, before livelihood, even. He didn't mean to make small of Cedric's death, nor did he mean to imply that it was in anyway positive. His feet, though sure and graceful on the pitch, always found a way of putting themselves in his mouth in conversation.
"Oliver," Katie paused before continuing, her voice gentle, but ironically so. "You've always known how to cock-up a good time."
Angelina laughed and the rest followed suit; even Percy cracked a smile. The awkwardness faded, and the group turned inwards, only Charlie and Oliver's eyes shifting towards the game. The Seeker really was good, which somewhat explained why the captain had decided to move the old one to Keeper. It was a poor choice. The new Keeper had the wrong build. He would have done better in the reserves in case the new Seeker was injured. They needed someone bigger for Keeper, someone less concerned about the state of the Snitch. One of the players hovered higher, watching the rest run drills. Oliver kept an eye on him, assuming he was the captain.
Oliver's name brought him back to the conversation. He waited a second for whoever had spoken to repeat themselves.
"I said, you'll be playing Ginny in a few weeks," repeated Angelina.
"Right. Harpies are good this year. I'm looking forward to it."
"Ginny's good," corrected Katie. Even to Oliver, his response sounded canned, prewritten. Katie was, apparently, willing to challenge it. Oliver remembered now that she was Holyhead Harpies fan. "They have her at Chaser and on reserve for Seeker, but she might as well be playing that position, too. I can't remember the last time they caught a Snitch."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "They caught one a few weeks ago."
"Barely. And it was a dumb catch- they were behind by two many points to win. It just solidified the loss!"
"That's hardly the Seeker's fault," Oliver started. "If the Chasers-"
"If the Keeper," Katie interrupted, correcting him, "could extract his head from his arse, the score wouldn't have run away from them."
"Always the Keeper's fault with you! That's one person, he can't-"
"They can't." Katie and Angelina corrected him together, as if he alone had intentionally and systematically orchestrated the exclusion of women from Quidditch. It wasn't ingrained sexism that made him commit the little slip; they were all well aware of this fact. The Gryffindor women had always made up the strongest part of their team, and Oliver was always adamant of this fact. Rather, it was selfishness and specificity. The setting, the people, the conversation- it had all sent him back quite a few years. It had taken him back to similar arguments,, specific arguments in the locker rooms, when their own team had been the subject.
"Right." Oliver conceded. The Seeker swooped close to their section, mercifully capturing everyone's attention.
A few minutes later, the players began to congregate for a post-practice talk, and soon they exited the field. Percy stood promptly, brushing non-existent dirt from his pants. "I really must get going. I've got a lot of work to do today."
"It's Saturday," George argued, though he stood himself, stretching his arms over his head. No one argued; they all began their decent of the narrow stairs, Percy once again leading the way. Oliver fell in between Katie and Charlie, his eyes on the pitch. It was just a Quidditch pitch, not unlike the Puddlemere stadium. In fact, in comparison, the Hogwarts Quidditch facilities were smaller, less regal in stature. But they carried higher regard for Oliver. They seemed infinitely more important.
There, at those goal hoops, was where he tried out for the team. And right by the door to the locker room, that was where Charlie, still a hero to young Oliver, absolutely untouchable, called him 'one hell of a Keeper,' but said he was too small to play. And that same place, one year later, was where Charlie gave him the same compliment but without stipulation, and handed him a uniform. Right under the stands was where he had his first kiss, when he snuck out of the castle with Alicia Spinnet the night before their first game. In the center of the field, he taught Harry Potter how to play. A few years later, in that same space, he hugged his teammates and hoisted the Quidditch House Cup over his head. And just a few years after that- too soon, he allowed himself to think, just for a second, we were all much too young- that was where he returned, where he pledged his life, if it was needed. It was where Headmistress McGonagall found him once the grounds were quiet, blood seeping from his side to dye the grass red. It was where she took his hand, just for a moment as she motioned for a Healer, and said something she had never said to him, not even when they won the Quidditch House Cup. She told him that he had done well.
Oliver, dedicated though he was, could not think of a time since the battle that he had felt willing to give himself wholly to something, the way he had to Gryffindor, or to the D.A.
"Oliver." Charlie's voice brought the keeper back to the present. He held out the borrowed broom- they were already back outside the pitch. Time had passed quickly, the grey sky a darker shade of grey. The number of brooms set against the facility wall had grown, and he watched as his old friends, one by one, picked up their own. Percy wasted no time. He shook Oliver's hand once more, found his broom and bid the group goodbye. Oliver was looking to leave just as quickly. He said his goodbyes and Charlie followed suit, both mounting their brooms and kicking off.
Charlie started forward. Oliver's broom sputtered. After rising a few feet, he sank back to the earth, landing hard on his feet once again. He looked up to see Charlie had turned around, landing (with a string of expletives) nearly exactly when he had kicked off moments before.
Charlie threw down his own broom, leading Oliver to understand how a broom borrowed from Charlie Weasley could have a bit of damage. "Useless hunk of wood! I just had it fixed-"
"Flew fine on the way here," Oliver offered, to no one's relief.
"Might as well throw it out. Piece of rubbish." George looked more red than usual. He scratched the back of his neck, already straddling his own, slightly less rickety broom. "It was Dad's, forever ago. Surprised it got you here in the first place."
Oliver frowned at that statement, but chose not to consider it further. Instead, he turned back to Charlie, who had his wand pointed at the broom in question, muttering. After a minute, he shook his head, just as red as his brother. "I don't know what to tell you. It's a piece of rubbish. And mine- I don't think my broom will hold two people."
"I've got Angelina," George added, by way of excuse. "I don't think mine can handle three people. Barely takes two."
"I'll drop him home," offered Katie. "It's on the way."