Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand

Chapter 10
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Quidditch season was fast approaching, and Oliver couldn't have been happier. He was so thrilled at the prospect of Puddlemere's first game, a game he would be doing more in than sitting in the reserve box, he couldn't help but grin all the time.

Even now, after practice, he was smiling to himself. He'd opted to fly home and enjoy the great weather. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and he could see the stars were right just as clearly as he could see Britain passing by underneath. Muggle planes flew overhead sometimes; one didn't get to be a professional Quidditch player by not knowing the best, safe cruising height for long broom travel.

Practice wasn't getting any easier, but Oliver loved it. As tired as he could be later in the day, he lived for it, even for the occasional bludger hit. Fortunately, he'd avoided that particular problem on this particular day.

Bludgers weren't the only things a wizard on a broom needed to worry about, though. Oliver was so enthralled in his thoughts of glorious Quidditch that he never saw the other flyer coming, only felt the gust of turbulence as he was buzzed. Whoever it was, they were obviously incredibly reckless, if not malicious. Nearly losing his hold on his broom, Oliver tightened his grip and yelped, throwing his weight over to steady himself out before he flipped.

Dark red robes fluttered out of his eyesight just as he steadied out. Looking around frantically, Oliver became worried when he couldn't see anyone. Clouds had rolled in from nowhere, and the ground was gone, as well.

The same spot of color came again at the corner of Oliver's eye, but when he turned to look, the other rider was already swooping under him and out of sight through the clouds.

Far ahead, the clouds rippled out while the broom rider rose, slowly gaining altitude at first, and then rocketing straight up. Oliver watched the man's blood-colored Quidditch robes fan out as he abruptly stopped; he let his legs leave the broom instead of holding on, keeping one hand held onto the very end as he flipped over. For a brief moment he hung there, as if one-hand-standing on the tip of his broom, silhouetted so perfectly against the full moon that it had to have been done intentionally.

When gravity kicked in, the man fell gently around to the other side of his broom, re-mounting it but now facing in the opposite direction. Staring into red eyes, Oliver abruptly realized he was dreaming. "This...you...can't be real. This has to be going on in my head..."

His Other smiled at him. "That doesn't mean I'm not real."

He turned and zoomed off, going under the clouds. Feeling compelled to follow, Oliver dived down after him. The ground underneath the clouds was a dry, yellow desert, and the clouds vanished as soon as Oliver was through. The sun was out, almost high-noon, his Other zooming about so low that he was kicking up sand.

Oliver followed, weaving around the boulders and into crevasses as the doppleganger led on. He started gaining and reached out, feeling compelled to touch his red-eyed reflection, feeling as though doing so would bring rationality to his mind.

When his hand was only a few inches away, his Other turned to look at him. His face was not twisted with malice as it had been in the last dream, it really was like looking in a mirror.

Impassively, his other pulled a hand off his broom and pointed straight ahead. Looking where he was going, Oliver realized, all too late, that a very large rock was impeding his path. He yanked back, desperate for altitude, but it was far too late. The end of his broom met the rock and, at first, it seemed like Oliver would pivot end-over-end over it.

Then, the broom gave and snapped. It became meaningless, and Oliver crashed into the stone, thrown over it like a rag doll so fast that, when he eventfully hit the ground, he rolled several feet.

It didn't hurt. Oliver sat up, more to get the sun out of his eyes than anything. Looking down at himself, he realized he didn't have a scratch on him.

A gust if air kicking up around his broom, the Other landed next to him and dismounted. "You really should be more careful." He offered Oliver a hand up. "Of course, I suppose that's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Oliver reached for him. Their hands clasped...and he woke up.

He didn't scream or nearly fall out of bed like last time, but he sat up and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was beside himself with confusion. "What's wrong with me..."