How Oliver Got His Groove Back, Part 1 By Zeft
Disclaimer: JKR and Warner Bros owns all Harry Potter related things. Simon Dodger is mine. And Nick Hornby's ideas belong to him.
A/N: Another short chapter. I quite like writing this in little parts - more productive. Enjoy.
**
"I'm quite worried about Oliver. He's given up Quidditch."
"Are you being funny?"
People often thought Simon was funny. It was one of the perks of being able to lie with a straight face.
"No, I'm not joking. He's seriously off the deep end. He told me he wanted to be Hogwarts Flying Instructor."
"What's wrong with that?"
What's wrong with that??? Simon had never felt more like throttling someone. Too bad it happened to be his girlfriend. After being drenched daily in Puddlemere merchandise for seven long years, subjected fortnightly to intricately detailed discussions on the team's most recent performance, and told monthly that if he didn't manage to break into Puddlemere's first team within a matter of years he'd rather die in a gutter than agree to play for Falcons instead, 'what's wrong with that' was the rudest understatement he'd ever heard.
"Well? What's wrong with it? It's not a bad job."
Simon sighed. It wasn't her fault really. When he asked her after dinner if she'd like to come with him to the Astronomy Tower, she followed him eagerly in anticipation of a good snog session. Or at the very least, some quality relationship talk. He didn't know. But she couldn't have been expecting to play therapist to a guy who she once described as 'creepy'.
"Maybe he's having a mid-life crisis?" she added unhelpfully.
Simon snorted. "At 16? Right, I'm off to tell him that he's going to die at 32."
"Why are you so tetchy tonight anyway?"
"No idea. My whole world has been turned upside down and I'm the only one not walking on the ceiling."
"Maybe it's because he's suddenly.normal." She said, her eyes becoming wide. "And mature."
"Mature should be confined to people over the age of seventy."
"You're just jealous because now that he's not strange anymore, you're the only strange one."
"Boohoo." Simon rolled his eyes. People were meant to be strange. If you weren't strange, you were a sheep. Or a Hufflepuff, possibly. Perhaps that's why Simon was so worried - Oliver was turning canary yellow.
"Basically, I need to help him get back on track. Otherwise we're depriving Scotland of their best Keeper and they'll never make the World Cup."
"He plays for Scotland?"
"Yep."
"But he's only 16. That's not possible."
"Sure it is. Mind you, he's not their regular Keeper. The other one's at St. Mungo's right now. Gone Mad. Can't cope with the humiliation."
"You're having me on."
"No, why would I do that? I'm not gaining anything from it."
It was true that he was not gaining anything directly from it. Being English, Simon had no allegiance with the Scottish team - he thought they were quite laughable, really - but the natural high of doing a good deed was in great demand. It didn't come often, (for Simon anyway) and as of yet there was no artificial equivalent. He had a mental note to experiment in Potions some more. If he could come up with the correct recipe, he'd make a fortune.
"I'll help you," she said rather despondently, "but absolutely no dressing up and walking around Hogwarts with Puddlemere colours, alright?"
"No, all good deeds must be anonymous. Make him think an invisible hand is guiding him towards the right path. It's more convincing that way."
"What do you propose we do first, then?" She inquired, pulling Simon up to his feet. She dusted herself off, and tucked her shirt back in. Simon grabbed her hand and ran towards the stairs.
"Let's go graffiti 'Falcons Stink' on every table Oliver sits at."
**
So, Simon and girlfriend are gonna help Oliver. No idea what happens next. Besides the graffitying, that is. Numerous references in this one. Nick Hornby, general football culture, and a couple of in-jokes. Having quite a lot of fun with this. :)
-Zeft
Disclaimer: JKR and Warner Bros owns all Harry Potter related things. Simon Dodger is mine. And Nick Hornby's ideas belong to him.
A/N: Another short chapter. I quite like writing this in little parts - more productive. Enjoy.
**
"I'm quite worried about Oliver. He's given up Quidditch."
"Are you being funny?"
People often thought Simon was funny. It was one of the perks of being able to lie with a straight face.
"No, I'm not joking. He's seriously off the deep end. He told me he wanted to be Hogwarts Flying Instructor."
"What's wrong with that?"
What's wrong with that??? Simon had never felt more like throttling someone. Too bad it happened to be his girlfriend. After being drenched daily in Puddlemere merchandise for seven long years, subjected fortnightly to intricately detailed discussions on the team's most recent performance, and told monthly that if he didn't manage to break into Puddlemere's first team within a matter of years he'd rather die in a gutter than agree to play for Falcons instead, 'what's wrong with that' was the rudest understatement he'd ever heard.
"Well? What's wrong with it? It's not a bad job."
Simon sighed. It wasn't her fault really. When he asked her after dinner if she'd like to come with him to the Astronomy Tower, she followed him eagerly in anticipation of a good snog session. Or at the very least, some quality relationship talk. He didn't know. But she couldn't have been expecting to play therapist to a guy who she once described as 'creepy'.
"Maybe he's having a mid-life crisis?" she added unhelpfully.
Simon snorted. "At 16? Right, I'm off to tell him that he's going to die at 32."
"Why are you so tetchy tonight anyway?"
"No idea. My whole world has been turned upside down and I'm the only one not walking on the ceiling."
"Maybe it's because he's suddenly.normal." She said, her eyes becoming wide. "And mature."
"Mature should be confined to people over the age of seventy."
"You're just jealous because now that he's not strange anymore, you're the only strange one."
"Boohoo." Simon rolled his eyes. People were meant to be strange. If you weren't strange, you were a sheep. Or a Hufflepuff, possibly. Perhaps that's why Simon was so worried - Oliver was turning canary yellow.
"Basically, I need to help him get back on track. Otherwise we're depriving Scotland of their best Keeper and they'll never make the World Cup."
"He plays for Scotland?"
"Yep."
"But he's only 16. That's not possible."
"Sure it is. Mind you, he's not their regular Keeper. The other one's at St. Mungo's right now. Gone Mad. Can't cope with the humiliation."
"You're having me on."
"No, why would I do that? I'm not gaining anything from it."
It was true that he was not gaining anything directly from it. Being English, Simon had no allegiance with the Scottish team - he thought they were quite laughable, really - but the natural high of doing a good deed was in great demand. It didn't come often, (for Simon anyway) and as of yet there was no artificial equivalent. He had a mental note to experiment in Potions some more. If he could come up with the correct recipe, he'd make a fortune.
"I'll help you," she said rather despondently, "but absolutely no dressing up and walking around Hogwarts with Puddlemere colours, alright?"
"No, all good deeds must be anonymous. Make him think an invisible hand is guiding him towards the right path. It's more convincing that way."
"What do you propose we do first, then?" She inquired, pulling Simon up to his feet. She dusted herself off, and tucked her shirt back in. Simon grabbed her hand and ran towards the stairs.
"Let's go graffiti 'Falcons Stink' on every table Oliver sits at."
**
So, Simon and girlfriend are gonna help Oliver. No idea what happens next. Besides the graffitying, that is. Numerous references in this one. Nick Hornby, general football culture, and a couple of in-jokes. Having quite a lot of fun with this. :)
-Zeft
