AN: Hello again! I know it's been forever since I've done an outtake, and I'm trying to fix that. The next real chapter should come on Sunday. This was meant to go in between the Quidditch match and Oliver showing up at the Hospital Wing. Unlike the last one, this could've actually happened in the LU-verse. Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
"Just sign here, and here, and initial here-"
"Wait!" Oliver Wood could scarcely believe he dared to interrupt Philbert Deverill, manager of Puddlemere United. But he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors did daring best. "My father told me never to sign anything without reading the fine print."
"Ah, yes," Deverill sighed fondly, reclining back in the chair. "Tristan always was a rather suspicious man."
Oliver dropped his quill in shock. "You-you know my father?"
"Oh, no, no, no. I knew of Tristan Wood, though. Everyone does. Well, everyone in Quidditch. That is to say, everyone who matters. He gave his life to the sport! And I see he's taught you a few tricks as well." Deverill winked at Oliver, who grinned proudly.
"He taught me everything there is to know. He bought me my first broom, and showed me how to fly. We went to all the Puddlemere matches…" Oliver felt his eyes sting.
"Awfully dusty in here, isn't it?" Deverill said knowingly, peering around Hooch's office.
Oliver nodded, taking the easy out. "So, uh, I'll just read this real quick." He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"'One year as a reserve, later given full privileges…allotted a fixed amount for wardrobe…given state of the art racing brooms…obligatory team photos and appearances…' Where do I sign?"
Deverill smiled at him. "I was hoping you'd ask. Now, just sign this last contract with St. Mungo's—just saying that you won't hold Puddlemere accountable for any injuries you may receive—and you can be off to visit your young friend."
"Young friend?" Oliver asked. "Harry!" He realized, alarmed. He'd completely forgotten the boy who had made it all possible. "I don't even know if he's okay…"
"Oh, you'd better check on him straight away. There is still this form that your mother has to sign, as you're not quite yet of age." Deverill shuffled around the papers and presented a piece of parchment with a glowing gold line.
Oliver's leg bounced up and down anxiously. "D'you think you could just give it to me and I could send it off later? I'm kind of in a hurry."
"Oh, no need for you to bother yourself. I can write her a quick letter explaining the situation, and I'll attach the form."
"Would you? That'd really help. You should address it to-"
"Annabelle Wood, Puddle Moore, The Glen, correct?" Deverill's eyes twinkled as Oliver gaped in astonishment.
"How did you know all that?"
Deverill leaned forward conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I've had my sights set on you for Puddlemere for a long time, young lad."
"Really?" Oliver's eyes grew round.
"Really. Now, I believe a certain seeker needs his captain to check up on him."
"Oh yeah!" Oliver bolted out of the chair abruptly. "Thank you so much Mr. Deverill!"
"Please, call me Phil."
Oliver raced down the halls, pausing occasionally to listen for Snape. McGonagall had straightened him out, but he could still refer to another teacher to dock points if he really wanted to. The others wouldn't do it if it weren't a legitimate complaint, but unfortunately, running in the halls was a real rule.
How was Harry? Was Pomfrey even going to be able to fix it? Would Harry be angry that Oliver had left? Would the news make everyone as happy as it had made him? Most likely not, but Oliver still believed that it was pretty good news.
To his left he caught a flash of red. Weasley red. He skidded to a halt. Surely one of them would be able to say whether Harry would recover.
"Hey!" He called out. The tall, lanky form turned around to reveal a Percy without glasses on. A Percy who appeared to be holding onto something, or someone as it turned out. Percy moved to shield the girl from view, but Oliver caught sight of a blue and bronze striped tie. Percy's hair was mussed up, and his collar looked rumpled, as though someone had tugged rather hard on it.
"What are you doing?" Oliver blurted out, even though it was rather obvious what Percy had been doing.
"I don't really see how that's any of your business," Percy said stiffly, adjusting his tie.
Oliver shrugged. "Fine. But if you don't want everybody to find out who you were snogging, you might want to beat me to the Hospital Wing."
And Oliver dashed away, struggling not to laugh at what a perfect day it had been.
