How Oliver Wood got his groove back.

Summary: Look at the title. Basically a short story on how Oliver rediscovers his Quidditch obsession after the humiliating loss to Hufflepuff in PoA.

Disclaimer: JKR owns most of it. And Warner Bros too, the sneaky gits. And I also nicked some good ideas off Nick Hornby. Much apologies to him. He really is talented.

**

Oliver awoke, breathless. He'd done it again. This made it three nights in a row now. How long would it go on?

Oliver thought he'd put a stop to it yesterday night by reciting out loud all the verses to the Beater's Bible, and the night before that by plotting out every single Quidditch play he'd ever come up with (and sleeping with them under his pillow).

But now the situation seemed hopeless. One more non-Quidditch related dream and he could kiss his reputation as Hogwarts's premier hot, athletic jock and all round Quidditch nutcase goodbye.

And the sudden downfall of interest in the beautiful game wasn't exactly his fault, either. If Harry didn't have such a troubled childhood, then that Hufflepuff game would have been in the bag. All Oliver had ever wanted (since he became Captain, anyway) was a good Seeker, but no., he had to get bundled with one that had enough emotional baggage to wear a groove in more than one psychiatrist couch. He wished unimportant would be called upon by The Powers That Be to save the world instead.

And so they had lost; a miserable, cold, wet and utterly pathetic defeat. Losing, (especially to Hufflepuff) wasn't something that Oliver had planned for. He had drilled into his team the dangers of over-confidence, but not for one moment did he believe in it himself, and he didn't think he was fooling anyone. It was true that complacency is best confined to the classroom, especially when he was aiming for a 320-0 win. It would have been a new Gryffindor record.

Losing was something he hadn't needed to come to grips with since fourth year.it had come as quite a shock, and so he had dealt with it the only way he remembered how, the same way he had dealt with it when Puddlemere were knocked out of the Cup by then bottom-placed Cannons. How long was he in there? Until his mother turned off the water supply off and yelled at him to stop wasting Earth's most precious resource, probably.

The point was, (and Oliver didn't like to admit it) the loss against Hufflepuff had seriously dampened his enthusiasm. It was one of those turning points in his life, one of those times that called for a big think. He was heading for goal, and had no idea whether to shoot left or right. The only other time he had had a big think he had shot straight down the middle; he was five and had just gone to his first Quidditch match, the atmosphere was electric and Puddlemere performed like the lions they could be rather than the pussy cats they usually were - at the end he had asked himself two questions; Did he like Quidditch? Yes; Did he want to play Quidditch for the rest of his life? Yes again. And that was the end of his simple, yet effective, big think.

Right now he was seriously considering fluffing his shot and giving up his dream of playing for Puddlemere United and becoming Hogwarts's Flying Instructor instead. He already had the credentials (any bastard can fly) and he wasn't afraid of mid-air rescues. Besides, watching first year Slytherins attempt to land would be the most hilarious thing he could ever see.

**

The next day, however, Oliver had second thoughts.

"Bastard son of a bitch," Simon Dodger raged after Gryffindor were deducted ten points because he breathed too hard onto a Slytherin's potion, "When I become a Potions Master, I'd really love to see the look on his face when I get a higher rating than him. Slimy git."

"You really like Potions that much?" asked Oliver.

"Yeah. Though Snape distorts the dream a bit. I mean, what if I turn out like him?"

"What, sallow and greasy?"

"Not the appearance, the attitude. The 'I'm so good I'll look down my nose at you, despite the fact that all I can do is mix flour and water together and get bread, which any decent cook would know how to do'."

Simon leant his head back, giving everyone an eyeful up his nostrils. Oliver averted his eyes. He doubted Simon would ever turn out like that. It wasn't his style. If Simon had a problem with someone, he wouldn't be politely rude, he'd just tell them to sod off.

"Nah, don't think you'd turn out like that."

"That's a relief. What about you? Still lusting over the no. 1 jersey at Puddlemere?"

"Not anymore. I'm thinking of becoming Hogwarts's Flying Instructor."

Dead silence.

**

A/N: Yes, I realise it's rather short. Just the prologue for now, there will be more in the later chapters (just a couple) on how Oliver gets his groove back, with the help of the irrepressible Simon Dodger, of course. :D

Be a darling, and leave the poor author a review?

-Zeft

PS: I am sorry about Book Nook not being done yet.