A/N:

Set in The Sorcerer's Stone novel, in the Halloween chapter where Oliver Wood gives Harry his first private session on the Quidditch pitch. It occurred to me that Wood was probably the first person to praise Harry for anything that he did, since we all know when it comes to the Dursleys, Harry can never seem to do anything right in their eyes. But Quidditch and flying on a broomstick were probably the first two things Harry realized he was good at. This is just a little extension to Harry and Wood's conversation from the first novel.

Enjoy!

A Boost of Morale:

Some said Oliver Wood was outright oblivious to how others felt. Fred and George Weasley told him a couple times that he crapped toothpicks because he had a "stick up his arse," and that was the only reason he and Percy Weasley got along at all. Professor McGonagall scolded him for his lack of perception, and how he thought so little when he talked. He spoke his mind without thinking too much; Katie Bell told him he was what muggles would call "tone deaf," because he never realized how he came across to people.

But nobody could say Wood wasn't observant of the little things. He paid close attention to all his teammates, he could pick out every little trait about them. He knew where to place them on the field when creating plays. He knew to place Katie near George, right next to Angelina, who he positioned in the middle of the pitch so she had the advantage of catching the Quaffle first. Alicia, whom they often used for penalty throws, hung behind the other two girls. Fred and George flanked either side of the field. And Harry, he already knew where their youngest team member needed to be. Wood would need him higher above everyone else, scouring for the Snitch so he could have a view of the entire stadium.

Speaking of Harry, the very first private session he had with the kid made him realize that Harry was something special. He had a gift. He saw how much Harry enjoyed flying, how he'd taken advantage of him not being there yet to test out his Nimbus 2000. Watching Harry catch the golf balls he'd used for training, Harry had quick reflexes needed for a Seeker. Watching as Harry's arm quickly stretched out to grab the balls before tossing them back, Wood knew that Harry was going to bring them home a victory.

He's got raw talent,thought Oliver, grinning, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Throwing the last golf ball towards Harry, he watched as Harry dove down with his broom, outstretching his hand and catching it, before tossing it back towards him.

"That was brilliant!" Oliver said, pocketing the golf balls and landing his Comet 260 onto the pitch. Harry touched down beside him, as he did so, Wood noticed something.

Looking into Harry's green eyes, Harry looked as though he didn't know how to take this compliment, like he wasn't used to being praised. Nonetheless, Oliver continued even as they headed towards the change rooms so Wood could fit Harry into Quidditch robes.

"The Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," Wood said happily. "I wouldn't be surprised if ye turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Harry nodded. Again, Oliver noticed Harry didn't quite know how to handle this glowing praise. He knew Harry had gone off to live with muggles after what happened to his parents. But he wondered about the kind of life that Harry had at home. Harry only seemed to know muggle terminology – Wood didn't have a clue what "baseball" was, but if Harry was comparing Quidditch to that, then it had to be close enough. That meant, Harry was never exposed to the wizarding world until he went to Hogwarts.

But why would his own relatives want to hide that from him? Wood thought as he led Harry into the changing rooms.

"Before we begin practices, we should fit ye into robes," Wood said, sizing Harry up as he opened Harry's locker so he could place the Nimbus 2000 in there. "Charlie's old robes should do. If not, I'll see what we have in storage."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Wood looked towards Harry, before saying, "Ye knew McGonagall wouldn't have let ye on the team if ye didn't have the potential, right?"

"Yeah, I know that," Harry said, but Oliver wasn't convinced. Harry's voice said one thing, but his eyes conveyed something else entirely.

I'll have to praise him after every practice, Wood thought as he grabbed Charlie Weasley's old Quidditch robes, labeled with number 7 on the back. Handing them over to Harry, he said, "Try those on."

Harry slipped the robes on, and much to Wood's surprise, Charlie's old Quidditch uniform fit the kid relatively well. The robes were a bit long on him, but then again, Wood noted that Harry had shown up wearing clothes were clearly much too big on him, probably second-hand.

Wood nodded in approval. "Al'ight, we'll go with those," he said. "Let's get back up to the common room. I don't need Percy jumping down my throat about curfew. I swear, when he wrote me the summer about 'im getting made prefect, I knew he'd be even more unbearable."

Harry laughed lightly at this. "And you're his roommate?"

"Trust me, ye don't want that prat as a roommate," Wood shuddered. "He paraded around the dorm showing that badge off. And I swear he was wearing hair gel first night we got back. For whom? I don't know."

"I can buy that," Harry said. "If I have to hear him say, 'I'm prefect' one more time . . ."

"Ye'd jump in the Great Lake to swim with the giant squid?" Wood inquired.

"Wait . . . giant squid?" Harry asked.

"Apparently there's one. I've never seen it," Wood shrugged.

"I think I'd rather not, then," Harry said. "But not much can surprise me anymore about this place."

"Once ye spend a day 'ere, ye get used to it," agreed Oliver.

"I already am. I'd rather spend my whole life here than go back to my aunt and uncle's house," Harry said, and Oliver could hear the bitterness in the younger boy's voice.

"C'mon, they can't be that bad, can they?" Wood asked as he moved to sit next to him on the bench.

"They're pretty horrible," disagreed Harry. "They tried hiding what I was, for years. If Hagrid hadn't shown up to give me my letter in person, I wouldn't be here. They told me my parents died in a car crash."

Wood was surprised to hear this. Sure, he heard of some muggle families not being the most understanding towards their children's magic, he even heard of some young witches and wizards trying to suppress their magic because they were filled with so much self-loathing. But the way Harry talked about his aunt and uncle, he made it seem as though they were something much worse than that.

"Do they not like magic?" Oliver inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Harry was silent for a moment or two, before saying, "They don't like much of anything. They hate anything that isn't normal."

Oliver nodded thoughtfully, listening intently. As he did so, he looked closely at Harry. Even for an eleven-year-old, the kid was quite thin. And he saw Harry had fruitlessly tried keeping the bridge of his glasses together with scotch tape.

Why's that? Oliver thought as he reached for his wand.

"Well, if ye ask me, they're closed-minded gits," Oliver offered. "Muggles are too absorbed in their own world to ever care about ours."

"It goes beyond that," Harry said. Again, that bitterness was prominent in his tone. "My aunt hated my mother, and she still does. I can never do anything right by them. Yet they look at my cousin and think he can do no wrong; they're hilariously stupid, overlooking all he does. His last exam scores from school aren't anything to brag about. And his behavior . . . that's another story."

"Then don't waste your breath trying to please 'em," suggested Wood firmly. "Because they're not worth the time."

"I've figured that out a long time ago," Harry admitted.

Once again, the bitterness wasn't well-hidden. "Normal's overrated," Wood said, "besides, if we were normal, we wouldn't be able to do this." He flicked his wand out in the direction of Harry's glasses and muttered, "Occulus reparo." He watched as the duct tape flew away from the bridge of Harry's glasses, revealing that it was fully repaired. Harry placed his fingers to the bridge of the glasses, surprised that they were fixed.

"Scotch tape will only do so much for that," Oliver told him. "Besides, how did ye manage that?"

"My cousin." Harry wore a bitter smile. But Wood could see an underlying sadness there.

"He did this?" Wood felt a flare of anger hearing that.

"Well, I'm faster. He hates exercise and can't run to save his life." Harry managed a genuine grin. "Once when he and his friends were chasing me, I somehow got up on the roof of the school. I still don't know how."

"Ye displayed some non-verbal magic," Oliver said. "Except, that takes years of practice. To me, it sounds like ye did a self-levitating charm. Or apparation; wizards and witches can't do that until they take the test at age seventeen. The fact that ye managed that? Ye're quite powerful for someone so young."

"Wow," Harry murmured.

"Maybe that explains how ye managed to summon your broom before everyone else," Wood supposed. "Most first-years get smacked in the face by a broomstick the first try. In your case though, Quidditch is in your blood. Ye're a natural. And for McGonagall to recognize that, ye're something special."

Harry grinned a little wider at that, nodding. Even then, Oliver could tell Harry wasn't used to people saying they were impressed by him. Did his uncle and aunt ever praise him for anything? Let alone bother to show that they cared?

"But just so ye know, I want to keep this quiet," said Oliver. "I'll keep it limited to the team, and whoever else ye told. Because I'm treating ye like everybody else; ye may be 'The Boy Who Lived,' but at the end of the day, ye're one of my teammates."

Much to Oliver's surprise, Harry looked grateful and relieved to hear this. He replied with, "Thank you."

Oliver quirked an eyebrow quizzically, only for Harry to say, "It's just nice to have somebody not treat me like a token, for once."

Oliver nodded in understanding. "Nobody would want to be famous for having Ye Know Who murder their entire family, and being the sole survivor. I can imagine ye don't enjoy it."

"I can't stand it," Harry admitted.

"But does it beat living with those muggles?" Oliver asked.

"Yes, and no," said Harry. "On one hand I wouldn't mind a little more attention from them. But on the other, the attention I get here is too much."

"Well, I can assure ye that ye won't have to worry about that with the team. They're not going to treat ye any differently just because ye're famous," Oliver replied. "Besides, the Gryffindor team, ye'll find we're all kind of like extended family. We take care of each other."

He laced as much sincerity as he could in his voice, hoping Harry would know that he now had a new circle of friends who would die for him if necessary. Looking at Harry, he could tell the younger boy got it.

"And here's what I say, about your aunt and uncle," Oliver said as he got up from the bench. He once more put as much sincerity as he could into his tone, hoping to convey to Harry that he meant every word of it. "If ye come home the summer, and they don't give ye the praise ye deserve, to hell with 'em. Because at the end of the day, ye've got something they'll never have. And they can't stand that. Make it a point to point that out."

Harry nodded, and Wood could see the silent gratitude there as he rose to his feet so they could make their way back to the common room – the place they both fortunately got to call a second home. Subconsciously, as they exited the change room, Oliver's arm wrapped its way around Harry's shoulders as his hand rumpled up the boy's hair. He knew when the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match happened, that Marcus Flint – Wood's rival since his first year of Hogwarts – was going to piss himself. And the mental image of that alone was enough to bring a grin to his face.