Part Three: The Yellow Wall (Part Three of Five)
Oliver
Oliver Wood had never had a hobby. It might sound strange, but it was true: he'd never had a hobby.
Quidditch couldn't be considered as a hobby. It had been his obsession, his reason to wake up every morning, his job, his dream, but it had never been a hobby. He'd always taken it too seriously to consider it a hobby.
His father had always laughed at him when he'd heard Oliver talking about a lost match like it was the end of the world. He was a Muggle-born, and therefore he'd always preferred the football he'd played as a child to Quidditch. Which his son considered a blasphemy, of course.
As for her mother, she had always smiled politely at Oliver's rants about Quidditch, but he was aware of her lack of interest in the subject. She was a little overweight and she'd never enjoyed sports that much. Instead, she'd preferred taking care of her beloved plants, and more than once he'd wondered whether his mother'd rather spend her time in the garden than with him. When he'd been little, he'd even thought that his mother liked her plants more than she liked him. Now, though, he thought that maybe his mother hadn't spent so much time with him because he hadn't allowed her, always obsessed with Quiditch and all the stuff she'd always secretly hated. Or maybe he'd been a little spoiled, being an only child and all, and his mother hadn't spent more time with her plants than necessary.
The only one person in his family who had fully understood Oliver's obsession had been his Uncle Emery. He owned a shop which sold Quidditch related stuff and even though he'd never been a good player himself he was as obsessed by it as his nephew, or perhaps even more. He'd been the one who'd taken Oliver to Quidditch matches since he was two, he'd been the one who'd bought him his first racing broomstick and the only one who'd been sure he'd be made Quiditch captain at Hogwarts. Yeah, definately his uncle had had a lot to do with his own obsession.
By the time he was eleven, Oliver knew more about Quidditch matches that had taken place a century ago than he did about chocolate frogs cards or anything else an eleven-year-old kid should have known about. However, at first his obsession had gone almost unnoticed: after all, most kids his age were obsessed with Quidditch.
As time went by, though, things changed. Well, he didn´t change, but the people around him did... and he guessed that had been the problem. While he kept obsessing over Quidditch, most boys started to worry about girls, read forbidden magazines or buy alcohol illegally.
Slowly, he became more and more isolated. At the time he didn't notice it. As long as there were Quidditch trainings to plan, strategies to study and matches to play, he didn't feel lonely. Besides, if he wanted to talk to someone about a non-Quidditch related subject, he could always count on Percy, who wasn't that popular either.
And it wasn't like he was a total freak or something. He got along with the other boys, he cared a little about his appearence, and he had dated girls. Quite a lot of them, actually. Sure, his relationships had never been that long – his record at school had been two months – but for him it had been okay. Truth to be told, he'd never noticed how empty his life was – not until he'd lost Qudditch definately. Until then, he'd thought his life was just perfect.
Now, though, when he remembered his school days, Oliver realised he got it wrong. His life had been far from perfect. He had been a lonely boy, without a single true friend in the world. A boy who everyone had considered eccentric and even a little nuts, a boy who had been accused of being obsessive and even cold-hearted because of his lack of interest in the people who surrounded him. Oliver still remembered McGonagall's fury when she saw how little did he care for Harry Potter's welfare as long as they won the match. Back then, he'd thought she was overreacting. Now, he was surprised she hadn't smacked him on the head for his stupidity.
The truth was he'd always seemed to care more about Quidditch than people around him. And that had been how he'd lost Celine.
Celine had been his first serious girlfriend, at least the first one for whom he'd felt something more than lust. He thought he might even had loved her.
She was smart, funny, intense. When he was with her, he forgot about everything else. Even Quidditch. And a couple of times he'd thought about proposing, but he'd been waiting for the right moment. Which never arrived, of course.
Celine hadn't agreed on his illegal use of dragon's eyelids. She'd told him he was nuts, and that he ought to see a real Healer immeadiately. He had ignored her. After a while, she got mad enough to give him an ultimatum. He hadn't listened. She left. And he was more heartbroken than he would have liked to admit.
When he moved in with Percy and Andrew, he'd thrown away many of his old stuff, including old Quidditch magazines, photographs (all the ones Celine was in, at least) and many letters, including the three Angelina Jordan had written to him over the last year. The first one, when she'd been made captain, to tell him the news and also to ask for some advice. The second one, which arrived when his career was finally getting started, when Potter and the Weasley twins had been banned from the team. For some reason, she'd felt he was the only one who'd understand her desperation. And the third one, telling him Gryffindor had won the Cup, arrived at the beggining of his downfall.
He'd answered the three of them... but when his own Quidditch career was over, he couldn't stand reading them again, so they were thrown away unceremoniously, along with all the congratulations cards he'd received when he became famous and the few articles from the Daily Prophet where his name had been mentioned.
It brought him some peace, but after a while he'd begun missing Celine's pictures. One night, he was surprised to find himself trying to draw her face. And he was even more surprised when he realised the drawing was quite good. Almost as good as a real picture.
Almost.
Percy, and especially Andrew, had admired his work, and Oliver realised that he felt more at ease when he had his hands occupied with a pencil. Then his parents had got him a camera for his birthday (if Celine had remembered it, she hadn't bothered sending a greeting card) and he found out that taking pictures could be as gratifying as drawing. At least he got something to do while Percy was busy with his music and Andrew was busy with only Merlin-knew-what. And after a while, other people at Slayer's School had appreciated his work, and some had even suggested to pay him for some of his pictures.
At first he'd thought they were mad, especially when Percy suggested taking his work to the Daily Prophet or some magical magazine. And his shock did nothing but grow when more than one of those magazines accepted to publish his pictures and sketches, and to pay him for that!
Andrew and Percy insisted on celebreting the good news, so they were now at their favourite pub, savouring their beers and watching the darts contest between Wesley and Faith. Her boyfriend watched the scene form a near table he was sharing with Giles and Lorne, whereas some of the Slayer girls had chosen to sit in the bar, next to the three of them. One of them (was Vicky her name?) was flirting with Percy, and Oliver had to refrain a smirk. It seemed that his not-so-social friend was turning into a ladies' man.
'A Guinness pint, please'.
Oliver turned round to see who'd talked, and took a sharp inhale of breath when he saw a gorgeous girl sitting next to him. Ok, he was still pinning over Celine, but...
'Do you mind if I pay it for you?'
She smiled, and Oliver's heart skipped a beat.
A day later, while Percy and Andrew kept asking about his night with Linda (that was the girl's name), Oliver reflected that perhaps things weren't so bad after all. It was true that his life wasn't as great as he'd once imagined it would be, and it was true that Linda couldn't erase Celine from his mind, as it was also true that his dream of a lifetime had been shattered, but it was also true he now had other stuff.
He might no longer have fans like when he was famous, but he had real friends like Andrew and Percy, who didn't mind whether he'd screwed up his life or not. He didn't have a girlfriend, but he had the chance to meet new people, people who didn't necessarily now about his mistakes. He didn't have the job of his dreams, but he had a job that let him make a difference in this war.
He no longer had his obsession, but for the first time in his life he had a hobby, which might turn him famous or not. And for the first time in his life, he didn't care about it either.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't obsessed with succeding... and felt quite happy with what he had at hand.
For the first time in his life, he felt happy without Qudditch. For the first time in his life, he felt human.
