Chapter 7: Analyze This

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the title of this chapter.

A/n: Wow, guys. I really have no words. Oh, wait! Yes I do! YAYAYAYAYAYAY! THANKYOU! THANKYOU! It was the best brithday ever, my reviews more than doubled! I could cry... But I won't. I'll just make one of the charcters cry. No, I won't. This is a happy fic. I think. Yes. Happy. Fuzzy. Good. Must- Get- Into- Mind- Focus!

~ANything in italics, are his thoughts. Except for that little flashback.

-*~*~*-

I am serendipitous (!) to admit that whilst on my journey to recovering my broom, I did manage to succeed without adventuring into some complicated twist of events involving stunts from the movie Mission Impossible. Of course, I probably wouldn't have been able to pull it off wearing a gown anyway. As much as I like the sported look of wearing such a catastrophe out in public (I avoided no less than four cat calls) I had finally changed into conventional quidditch attire, which thankfully did not require tying up the back end so as to not scare away your head of house.

I strutted back onto the quidditch field with Fred and George who had retrieved several quaffles from the supply closet.

"Are you ready?" Fred asked, eyeing me bemusedly.

"Sure," I said confidently, mounting my broom. I kicked off into the air, feeling the air beat against my face. What a thrill! Behind me I sensed Fred and George follow suit. A slight buzz humming from their brooms signified that they were pulling up beside me. "So where are we going?"

"Right here is fine," said George, tossing up and down his quaffle.

"Now what?" I asked, shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand.

Fred threw George a secretive glance before answering me. "Your goal is to be normal- correct?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Then we need to figure out what to change about you to lower you to a sane level of normalcy. Thankfully, one that does not involve sadistic lion predators or men who sing at themselves in the mirror."

Wasn't it obvious? Quidditch was what's wrong with me!

"Now we play the game," George said sagely. He threw the quaffle at me and glided to my opposite so that we were facing each other.

I raised an eyebrow. More childish games, I didn't have time for this. Reluctantly, I sighed. It was the love of the game that got me into this mess in the first place.

"The rules are-"

"I know how to play quidditch," I interupted.

Fred sighed, fiddling with his quaffle while he spoke. "Just shut up," he said obnoxiously. I shut my mouth. He laid back until his back was resting on the broom. "We're going to say a word. Say the first thing that comes to mind."

"Oh," I mouthed.

George smiled mischievously. "Quidditch-"

How did he expect me to answer that? I bit my lip to keep myself from choking on words.

"Quidditch-" George repeated eagerly.

"-Field!" I managed.

"Very good, that was just a tester. Now let's see about this," George continued. "Field-" He tempted with an obvious air of arrogance.

"Quidditch."

"Hm," Fred thought aloud. "I would never expect him to say that."

George rolled his eyes crossly. "Don't be difficult, brother dear."

"Sorry," Fred shot spitefully.

"Moving on... Fun."

"Quidditch," I answered again.

"Sport."

"Quidditch"

"Butterbeer."

"Quidditch."

By now, they had become very interested in watching me answer. "D'you think his mind functions outside of the field?" Fred asked.

"Oliver," George said slowly. "You need to start thinking outside of the box. Ring- field!- whatever. It doesn't make sense for you to think of quidditch imediately after the word 'butterbeer' is mentioned."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because it just isn't right."

"Why not?"

George laughed. "Its just not right."

"Oh."

"Let's try this again..." Those words may have been the worst he's ever spoken. After far too many rounds of George attempting to get me to say something besides quidditch, he was tremendously bothered. "School.... house... war... pet... troll... candle... Voldemort for Merlin's sake!"

"Quidditch, quidditch, quiditch, quidditch, quidditch, quidditch, and... regretfully, quidditch."

"Aha!" Fred yelled. "I have reached a diagnosis!"

"What does he have?" George asked with mock enthusiasm.

"Oliver, have you ever heard of the term... obsession?" Fred asked.

*flash*

I saw myself sitting in a whitewashed room with five other people all in a circle, smiling and wringing my hands nervously. "Hi, my name's Oliver, and I'm obsessed with quidditch..."

"Hello Oliver," they chorused.

*end flash*

"I don't believe it! He is not obsessed! He can't only think about quidditch! This is a school," George argued. He turned to me. "Destiny!" He barked in my face.

"Quidditch," I said calmly and simply.

Fred smirked. "Girl," he said.

"Katie," I slipped.

The amount of noise those two could make was unhealthy. They imediately let out shouts of accomplishment, whilst I turned red.

"Sh!" hushed George and they both stopped. "Enemy!"

"Walls," I said with such malice that the wind quivered.

"So he thinks about sports, girls, and walls!" Fred said happily, as if he had just figured out some puzzle. Me, I was just lost in a pit of anger. Damn wall...

"Maybe we should try a different approach. How to improve, and this is where I come in," said Fred with giddiness. "A: don't think so much about quidditch."

Hello smart ones, that didn't exactly work before, now did it? "And how do I do this without binding my mortal soul to a contract that has an uncanny thirst for pain?"

Fred looked at me as seriously as one of the twins could (not very, mind you). "Oliver, you just have to try this on your own. I don't want to hear a thing about it, not one, but I want you to try. Just do it." He shrugged his fragmented sentence off as if it were nothing. "Now, what was the last grade you got on your charms paper?"

"It was a passing grade," I said defensively.

"How passing?" George asked.

I looked around at the sky, now turning from an orange speckled blue to pink. "To tell you the truth (ok, something at least close to it) I couldn't really tell. There were blobs, all it really looked like was a couple of splintered broomsticks pieced together-"

I stopped at their piercing glares. Alright, more broomsticks. Perhaps not the best way to start getting over quidditch.

"Well, whatever it is," Fred said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "I'm sure it wasn't good enough."

"Thanks for your support."

"I'm not being crude." Fred laughed and took a moment to recover himself. "But Oliver, I'm going to let you in on a bit of advice that you can not repeat, ever, to another human being. Or non human for that matter. You need to study."

The words rang strange and harsh falling from Fred's lips of all wizards. Fred was the master of evading study, save his equally talented twin. A part of me was offended. It wasn't like I'd never heard the word before, or put it to good use of my time. "I study!"

"What was it you said the other day, George, about teaching him how to lie?" Fred asked.

"Another time, perchance," said George.

"Even so," Fred said, rising, "You're not going to have me say it again- those foulest of foul words... But you need to listen to them. And do it. Every night."

"Right!" I agreed, open to their suggestion.

"Second, as soon as we get the chance, we're taking you to Hogsmeade."

"You mean this weekend?"

"No. Tomorrow."

"But the Hogsmeade trip is this weekend."

"So?" edged George.

"So- the Hogsmeade trip isn't until this Saturday."

"And again I ask you- so?" Said George sarcastically.

"How?"

"Magic," they chorused.

"Alright. Although I don't know how much good that will do. We have quidditch practice the next morning- Ow!" I rubbed the side of my shoulder where Fred had pummeled me one. "What the bloody hell was that for?!"

"Well, one could say I asked you just now to NOT think so much about quidditch- or I could say that was for attacking me earlier. Either way, you end up with a bruised shoulder. The lesson is, don't think about quidditch," Fred said.

"That- that doesn't make any sense!" I exclaimed.

"Oliver- don't change the subject! We're here to make sense of you, not us," George said. I simply nodded, making sense of those two could take... centuries. And even then, I'm not sure anything would be accomplished.

"Third thing, you need to talk to your Katie- girl."

"She is not my 'Katie- girl'!"

"But you want her to be, don't ya? Don't ya?" (George)

I took a moment to be flustered, waving my hands around the air. "I-"

"How would you feel if she were my Katie- girl?" Fred asked.

"I think I'd pummel you again, right here and now-!"

"I didn't ask what you'd do, moron. I asked how you'd feel."

"I'd be... jealous. Definitely jealous."

"Aha! So you do want her to be your Katie- girl!" George put in.

"I do not!" was my lame protest.

"Then you just don't want her to be with anyone else?"

"Yeah!"

"That's a bit selfish, don't you think?"

"So?"

"So you do want her to be your Katie- girl!"

"Listen here, you! If anything, I'd want her to be my girlfriend, not my Katie- girl!" I growled, grabbing George by the collar. He smiled widely.

"Oh my, brother, a love interest. Things are starting to get intense! This is just like that episode of 'Days of Our Lives' when C-" Fred started.

"What?!" I asked, whirling around and dropping George back on his broom. "There is no love interest here! You sick, twisted, benign cysts-"

"Now, now Oliver! There is no need for name calling," Fred said smugly.

"You just called me a moron five seconds ago!"

"No use, either, in getting too wrapped up in the past, eh?"

Being with these two for more than just ten minutes, was enough to make any man go crazy if not stark raving mad. They were mad! Completely! And I could barely hold a conversation with either one of them!

"I'm done! Goodbye," I called, flying lower.

"Wait! We're not done with you yet. This has all been a test, Oliver," George said. I stopped. "And according to my notes, I've concluded that you are a class 'B' Hostility Instigate."

"Well those words sound pretty, but what does that all mean?" I asked, impatient.

"It means that you use your anger as a channel. Yes, yes, its all built up in there- all inside of you. You have normalcy, but it only can come out when you're pissed. Simple, really," George continued to explain.

It sounded sane. But could it be true?

"I know what you're thinking. Is this the key to finding your inner child?" Fred asked. I stared blankly ahead, did I have an inner child? "How many times, when we were riling you about Katie, did you take a moment to think about quidditch?"

"Yeah, and how long did it take before you realized we were annoying the hell outta you?" George asked.

It all seemed to make perfect sense. Anger is normal. Katie is normal. Liking Katie is normal. Being disturbed by Fred and George is (and always will be) normal. Normal, normal, normal.

"I think we may be done."

"What? Why? We were actually making progress," I complained, sitting up too fast on my broom. I swung myself so fast over the handle I did a barrel row.

Fred rolled his eyes. "How can you be so blind? The sun has already set- and some one has been waiting for you to be finished all day." He nodded his head to the side.

Katie Bell paced at the foot of the field, her hair still up in the same ponytail I saw her in everyday. For once I was not making a fool of myself, I treasured the rare moment.

"Wipe that goofy smile off of your face and go talk to her," said George.

"And don't mess up," Fred added.

"Never forget what we taught you!" his twin rushed in.

"Be yourself- but not."

I looked from face to face as they spoke.

"Woo her-"

"A serenade!" Fred waved his hands around dramatically.

"Something romantic."

"And sophisticated."

"Make it a night she won't forget," said George with an excited grin.

"Don't choke, they thrive fear..."

"Bite the bullet!" George said with a wink.

"George! Watch it! You'll make the poor boy frightened," Fred jokingly said in a motherly tone. "Now, go get 'em tiger." Or should it have been lion?

I ought to have been frightened. But I wasn't. I was on my quidditch field, afterall. What could go wrong? Behind me I heard the twins snigger, one of them had made an obvious growl which reminded me of my earlier... complication.

I drifted to the ground simply, I didn't even stumble while dismounting my broom. Katie pretended to have been travelling in the opposite direction, probably so I'd have to go after her.

"Katie!" I called. She turned around, looking surprised. Women were so complicated, if you want to talk to some one, just talk to them. Why did it always have to be guy after girl? Truth be told, it wasn't fair for me to even think that, I had tons of girls after me... But Katie was different, why couldn't she be one of my many admirers? I actually liked her. But then I thought, if Katie didn't like me, then why couldn't she approach me like a normal person? Perhaps she didn't just want to talk to me. Palms sweaty, I felt my throat constrict. Endless possibilities drifted through my daft head. Brain cells, and I could feel them, were evacuating into nothingness.

And all because Katie Bell was coming over to "talk" to me.

"Hey Wood, feeling better?"

"Much," I squawked. I am not a bird! Lion- remember, Wood? You are the lion. "So what are you doing?" I asked in a voice not my own. It reeked of false manliness.

"Walking," she said, laughing. Was she laughing at me? No, Wood, who else could she be laughing at? "I came down to see if you were okay. You caused quite a scene earlier."

I nodded. "I was daft."

"You always were," she said. "About quidditch of course. That game has made you crazy, I swear."

"But it is just a game," I replied smoothly, from when I had practiced earlier. My throat didn't hurt so badly now.

"Oh really? I never thought that I'd see the day when I'd hear Oliver Wood say that quidditch was just a game. Are you sure that you're still not daft?"

"Only slightly. I know that other things can make me crazy besides quidditch," I said surely. Wait, what the hell just came out of my mouth? I don't say things like that to Katie. In fact, I don't say things like that to anyone! What if she thinks that I'm hitting on her? But I am hitting on her! Oh Merlin!

Katie smiled. Score, I made her smile! "Like what?"

"Uh... butterbeer."

"Are you referring to the time in fifth year when we lost that game to Slytherin and later you snuck off to Hogsmeade to the Three Broomsticks -" she started slyly.

"No!" I said, startled. No use in bringing up past mistakes, especially not that particular one. Yes, butterbeer can have a bad effect on me when consumed in mass quantities. It should not be used to treat flesh wounds, either... I smartly figured that one out the hard way. The very hard way.

"Well then, what else?" She challenged.

"What makes me crazy?" I repeated, scratching my neck. Why did I have to run my mouth off? Those few moments were the worst of my life. I just stood there, not doing anything excepting for telepathically willing Voldemort to pop out of the ground and Avada Kedavra me right then and there. Katie awaited my answer with rapt attention. It was too bad I had to let her down. "Uh... er. Well..."

"Yes?"

"Erm... ah..." I ran through all the vowels in the alphabet. And then I repeated. Finally, "I have no idea what else." My shoulders sagged. Now I couldn't even talk to her? What was my damage?

"You know, there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up this weekend," she said after a second pause. Her eyes shined dark and beautiful in the night. Of course, I pick this moment to get caught up in them, the time for me to make a move.

"Wood?"

"I'm sorry," I snapped out of it. Katie's face seemed to have lost that sparkle, she was avoiding looking at my own. "I guess I better go put my broom up. Man, I'm tired."

She smiled weakly. "You do that."

"See ya," I said, turning around. It was too late for me to ask her... too late. Damn, I pick the funniest times to notice the error in my ways.

Fred and George flew up quickly in front of me, still holding their quaffles.

"Oi Wood!" Fred called. Katie also turned behind me, I sense.

"You forgot your balls," George said gritting his teeth. I stole an instant to digest what they had said. It sounded so... suggestive. As usual, my face reddened. But then they each threw a quaffle at me. I dropped them both after subsequently catching them, along with my broom.

Fred kept glaring at me as if I were missing something. Something obvious that only I could miss. George was egging me on, twirling around his wand with his now free hand. They flew off dangerously with a mad glint in their eyes.

I faced Katie once more, and only hoped that the adrenaline pumping through my veins would last long enough for me to ask her one simple question. "So, would you like to go with me this weekend to Hogsmeade?"

******

So much to say, so little time. You ppl have no idea how worried I was about this chapter! You all left me such great reviews, and I didn't want to let you down! (fake tear, oh the corniness....) But what did you really think? I was struggling to captivate the true essence of inner conflict in Oliver Wood- lol! No, Demetre, Oliver Wood is just deranged... And yes! I mentioned Voldemorts name! Now this is a true HP fic. But don't worry, the mentioning of Voldemort is strictly for my amusement. THIS FIC WILL NOT END IN THE DESTRUCTION OF THE DARK LORD! Weeeeeeee!

Now I have to ask you: Are you all awaiting major fluffiness? Let me know! cuz i can do fluffiness, if u want it. Or not. You guys tell me.

Questions: Email me at Jenji@prodigy.net