A/N:
Okay, I decided to write this one shot, because I'm gonna be honest: getting into Percy Jackson led to me loving the fantasy genre all over again, and I've circled back to rewatching some of the Harry Potters and reading the Wiki pages. I've had The Order of the Phoenix play on a loop the past few nights as I go to sleep at night; yeah. And I recalled in the sixth book how McLaggen grabbed the Beater's bat and rammed the Bludger at Harry, causing him to fall off his broom and crack his head open. Then I remembered the first movie, how Wood has that dialogue with Harry before the Gryffindor/Slytherin game, telling Harry he'd suffered a concussion due to a Bludger to the head. I thought, okay, irony. And there's hardly any HP fanfiction of just Oliver and Harry's relationship as mentor/protegee; there's always extra out of character stuff tossed into it. And you know what I'm talking about. So, you're not gonna get that here.
If I get good response, I might do another; maybe one of Oliver joining the Order, because he was one of those side characters just tossed aside after a certain point. And he being one of my favorite side characters, there was lots of wasted opportunity.
So, here it is.
Enjoy.
An Irony
Just bloody wonderful, Harry Potter thought silently, staring up at the ceiling of the hospital wing.
It was Saturday morning. Madam Pomphrey insisted he stay the whole weekend, to ensure that he didn't have a concussion. But as near as he could tell, his memory was completely intact, and at least he wasn't slurring or showing any other symptoms. Harry considered himself lucky that he didn't end up in a comatose state – muggle terminology, something those in the wizarding world probably didn't know of.
But that didn't mean McLaggen was too lucky. The git had grabbed Peakes's Beater's bat and had the nerve to try showing the young Beater how to do his job. And in the process, letting Hufflepuff get past him with the Quaffle.
Jimmy was an amazing Beater; not Fred or George Weasley standard by any means. But the young lad did just fine out on the field. And he didn't need McLaggen berating him and telling him what to do, when McLaggen proved to be incompetent and a total idiot out on the pitch.
Harry rolled his eyes hard, wanting to hunt McLaggen down and strangle him. Though he was confident Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes have already given the reserve player smacks on the back of his head with their bats, and that Ginny had ripped him a new one. He could almost hear Ginny berating McLaggen from a mile away.
Oh, how I cannot wait to have Katie and Ron back on, he thought, because this is just rubbish. And of course, it needs to be my team that this happens to.
Groaning, his fingers moved to brush against the bandages wrapped around his head. He'd find McLaggen and kill him later. Until then, he just had to trust his teammates were taking care of it. The Gryffindor House valued loyalty, first and foremost. And he had some of the most loyal teammates on the Quidditch team that he could ask for.
As he continued laying there, he heard voices talking from the doors of the hospital wing.
"The boy needs his rest!" Madam Pomphrey was insisting.
"Well, I'm here to see 'im," said a familiar voice – a voice he hadn't heard since he ran into him at the Quidditch World Cup the summer before his fourth year. "C'mon, Madam Pomphrey. He's awake and ye said there's no permanent damage. I'm only 'ere for the day!"
Madam Pomphrey huffed begrudgingly, before saying, "Fine, but only an hour!"
"Thank you."
The doors opened, and a familiar face entered the room – his former Quidditch captain who'd personally groomed not just Harry, but Angelina Johnson to being leaders over the team.
"I see ye couldn't avoid following in my footsteps," Oliver Wood joked dryly, a smirk playing on his lips as he approached his former Seeker's hospital bed with what looked like a bottle of butterbeer.
Despite his predicament, Harry couldn't help returning Oliver's grin. "I wonder what gave that away," he said.
"For one thing, Angelina told me she put in a good word for ye to become captain," Oliver said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "Sorry I didn't write to congratulate ye sooner. I meant to. Got sidetracked with work."
"It's fine, Wood," Harry assured him, feeling warmth surge through him at Oliver's words.
"Anyways, back to what I said before," Oliver said, setting the bottle of the butterscotch-flavored alcohol on the side table.
"Which was . . ."
"Ye following in my footsteps, almost exactly," Oliver said. "I know I left an impression. I just didn't think ye'd try doing your own stunts with a Bludger, too. Maybe my spirit has rubbed off to not just Ange, but ye, too."
Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. Of course, he remembered that story Oliver had shared with him; how he didn't remember his first match at all, because five minutes into it, a Bludger smacked Oliver in the head, and he had such a bad concussion, he woke a week later in the hospital wing.
It didn't occur to Harry, until upon seeing Oliver enter, how similar this situation read.
"Except in this case, it wasn't an accident," Harry said, "and I didn't end up in a week-long coma like you did."
"What's a coma?" Oliver asked, raising his eyebrows as he unscrewed the cork from the butterbeer.
"Seriously?" Harry asked as he watched Oliver pour them each a glass.
Oliver smirked a little wider, reaching over and punching his shoulder. "I'm messing with ye, Harry. I know what that is."
Harry chuckled. "I'll never get over you acting clueless over muggle terms, Wood."
"Well, it's the same difference," Oliver said, sipping his drink. "We both got smacked on the head. Except me it was second year. Ye, on the other hand . . . how exactly did it happen?"
"Wait, you don't know?" Harry asked.
"McGonagall didn't go into specifics with her letter. Just said ye got injured similar to how I did my first match, and also said ye are struggling adjusting the new team dynamics. Figured ye could use someone to talk to," Oliver said. "So, tell me from the beginning."
"Alright, well, it started with try-outs. You know Cormac McLaggen?" Harry asked.
Oliver's face twisted as if he'd tasted something really sour. "Yeah, I do. Same year as Katie. Arrogant little git tried out for Chaser, but I gave it to Katie instead; he was pretty peeved he lost to a lass such as her. She was just the better one for the job. I take it you're dealing with 'im now?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, he tried out for your spot. Ron beat him, fair and square. And that was for the best. Because McLaggen can't work with a team to save his life."
"How bad?" Oliver asked.
"He was trying to do everybody else's job, and not what he was supposed to do," Harry ground out, shaking his head. "He let Hufflepuff score several times because he kept flying away from his post. Then I see him grabbing the Beater's bat, and demonstrated one of my Beaters how to swing. He aimed the Bludger right at me. And here we are."
Oliver let out a small grunt of sympathy. "What else has been happening?"
"Dean Thomas – Katie's replacement – and Ginny Weasley have a row almost every practice," Harry said. "Oh, and Katie being sent to St. Mungo's Hospital after touching a cursed necklace. And Ron getting poisoned unintentionally."
"Injured and sick teammates are one thing," Oliver sympathized.
"But couples arguing during practices?" Harry asked.
"Very different," agreed Oliver.
"You know, these past few months, I wondered how you, Charlie Weasley, and Angelina did it," Harry said. "Did you have to put up with this much rubbish between teammates?"
"Like we said," Oliver said, "infighting couples; that's different. Much more sensitive topic. Way I saw it, I just told the girls not to go dating within the team. But it wasn't easy. Fred and Angelina secretly had a thing for one another since their first year; I noticed."
"But what'd you tell them?" asked Harry.
"'Leave your relationship off the pitch,'" Oliver said. "Big reason why, when ye had that little spark for Cho Chang –" Upon seeing Harry's incredulous look, Oliver was quick to say, "Oh, come now, Potter. Ye don't think I noticed. Why'd ye think I said, 'Quit being a gentleman and knock 'er off 'er broom if ye need to'?"
Harry turned red in the face instantly. "Yeah, I remember."
"I'm not that thick, mate," Oliver said. "I remember those things when they matter. But that was a big part of it. When ye mix relationships with competition, it never ends well. I can recall when I first started dating a lass in Hufflepuff House – she'd been Keeper at the time, too; year older than me. But when it got competitive, it couldn't survive."
"Remind me to tell Dean and Ginny that," Harry replied dryly.
"If ye want I can tell 'em for ye," Oliver offered.
"Yeah, that will go over well," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.
Oliver just chuckled warmly as he watched Harry sip his butterbeer. "As for how I did it, it wasn't easy, carrying the weight of everyone. Especially since my second year as team captain, I'd been struggling to find a competent Seeker. When McGonagall came with ye, I couldn't believe ye inherited your father's talent – your dad is a legacy name for the Gryffindor team. I was curious to see if ye lived up to the reputation. But ye were also the youngest among six others who'd been doing it for longer. I think we all felt responsible for ye, in some way," he said.
"What'd you mean?" inquired Harry.
"That if something were to happen to ye, it'd be our fault," Oliver shrugged, taking another sip of butterbeer. "And I know Angelina felt the same way."
"Last year I thought she was channeling your spirit," Harry joked dryly.
"Angelina was always that way, Harry. Ye just didn't see that side of 'er too often," Oliver said. "She was tough on me, too. She wrote in her letters she was obsessed with winning the Cup that year. And I see her mania's rubbed off on ye to an extent."
"It must be the mentality of a Quidditch captain," Harry shrugged.
"It is," Oliver agreed. "We always want to win. But ye're doing the best ye can, even under rubbish circumstances. 'Sides, ye can still come back from this. Ye've got one more game left; I know ye can bring the team back 'round."
Harry gave Oliver a surprised glance. "Are you sure about that?" he inquired.
"Ye led your little resistance group just fine last year," Oliver grinned, reaching over and squeezing his young – well, not so young anymore – protege's shoulder. "And I heard ye kicked major arse against the Dark Lord 'imself; resisted 'im. Takes a lot of willpower to get through that."
"I had help in that," Harry said, feeling a painful stab at his chest as he remembered Sirius's death.
"You're so humble all the time. Ye sure ye don't belong in Hufflepuff House?" Oliver joked.
"I'm serious," Harry said, "others deserve the same amount of credit. Sirius, he . . ."
Harry's voice caught on Sirius's name, like it tended to whenever he spoke of Lestrange murdering him.
"I'm sorry about your godfather, Harry," Oliver said, sympathy evident in his voice.
"Sirius fought at my side that night," Harry said, "he doesn't get nearly as much credit; neither do Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, or Neville."
"Doesn't matter, though. Ye taught half the school Defense Against the Dark Arts; ye should've seen the letters Angelina'd write me, telling me how great a teacher ye were. No wonder she put in word for ye to become captain this year," Oliver said seriously. "Ye've made her and I really proud, Potter. Don't doubt it."
Harry felt his smile broaden; even his eyes went a little misty. For years he'd hoped to earn Oliver's approval. Of course, Oliver had expressed pride in him a multitude of times. He remembered them beating Ravenclaw his third year; Oliver's cheers of "That's my boy!" at the top of his lungs; how Angelina, Katie, and Alicia had all taken his face in their hands and kissed him on the cheek out of sheer pride. But this was different. This was Oliver expressing approval over his captaincy of a team he'd led for four years – three of which Harry had been part of.
"Thanks, Oliver," Harry managed to say.
"Anything for an old friend," Oliver assured him.