Author's Note: I really am a terrible editor. Editing is not fun so I take forever to do it, thus the story is spread out even though its all written. I'm getting a little miffed that no one responds though. I've seen much worse get much more attention. But I write to practice what I'll be doing for the rest of my life so thats what really matters.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else related to Harry Potter. I do own Izzy, Mr. Doyle, Rance, Farren, etc

Chapter 10 Losing sucks

"OLIVER WOOD," Brenten Doyle's temper boiled. "You lost that match for us. You're ass is lucky we've done so well this season because fortunately ,we're still in the tournament. But you are NOT to screw up again." The miserable keeper merely slumped against the wall not looking at his angry manager. He didn't need Brenten Doyle to tell him how badly he'd done; he already knew that. The world famous Quidditch player had played like a first year student who'd never been on a broom before.

"Give him a break," Rance did what no man usually dared; he stepped between Rance and Oliver. "His girlfriends missing. He's having a rough spell."

"I don't give a damn about his rough spells or emotional problems. All I care about is winning. Besides, I warned him not to screw around with Muggles."

"I wasn't screwing around with Izzy," Oliver corrected him. "I was...I am in love with her. It's a completely different thing." By insulting Izzy again, Mr. Doyle had crossed the line. Oliver stood up from the bench, ready to fight for Izzy this time. After seeing the consequences of his silence, he knew not to make that mistake again.

"Just because you think you're in love with that Muggle trash, doesn't mean she loves you back and it doesn't give you the right to screw up on the pitch. You're a professional! Quidditch comes first, Oliver. I expect to see you all at practice at 4 AM tomorrow. We can't afford to lose another match, and yes that's directed at you Oliver." Rance held Oliver back from going after the manager and beating him. A door slammed and Brenten Doyle left the locker room.

"Oliver, I hate to rub salt on a wound, but you really screwed up today," the ever inconsiderate Farren added. In Farren's life, Quidditch was number one. Oliver Wood wasn't an actual friend, he was a fellow employee, and he didn't actually care about his life.

"You think I don't bloody know that?" Oliver's anger burned and he punched a locker. Throwing down his towel Oliver stormed to the shower, "I bloody screwed up everything didn't I?"

Farren started to open his mouth but Rance stopped him, "He's beating himself up enough. There's no reason to add to it."

-OoOoO-

By the time Oliver finished showering the lower room had vacated except for Rance. "I know I screwed up, Rance, you don't need to tell me too." Oliver's voice ached of desperation.

"Oliver, I'm not here to harass you. I wanted to ask if you'd heard from Izzy."

"I haven't heard a word. I called Sandy from the coffee shop and she hasn't seen her. Seems my girlfriend has dropped off the face of the planet." Everything he knew to try, he'd tried. As a last resort he'd roamed around New York for a couple of hours just hoping to see her.

Rance could see the pain in Oliver's eyes. Even more than he hated to lose a match, Rance hated to see a man he respected hurting so much. From the day they met he'd seen Izzy and Oliver's relationship bloom like a rose. He couldn't begin to understand why Izzy would leave. "Are you okay, Oliver?"

"No I'm not. I'm worried. She was drunk and pissed off. Then suddenly she disappears. There are so many scenarios running through my head. They're scary Rance." They didn't live in a safe world. So much could go wrong, all the way from Voldemort to perverts, and Oliver was helpless to prevent it.

"Yeah I can't even imagine how scary that is. This is such a weird situation. I'll be honest, I never imagined Izzy leaving you."

"Neither did I," Oliver said honestly. In his mind, he'd begun to plan their future together.

"You'll be okay. You're a strong kid, you've gotten through rough times before," Rance hugged Oliver comforting him the only way he knew how.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. But I've got to get my head in the game again. We can't lose this tournament. Now after we've come so far." Once again Oliver fell back on his first love, Quidditch. He'd need to drink, breathe and eat Quidditch.

"That's the spirit lad, distract yourself with Quidditch. It's a medicine like no other."

-OoOoO-

The champagne was flowing in the locker room but Oliver wasn't celebrating. They'd won the match, but barely. He knew after the obligatory merriment Brenten was going to rip into him. Izzy had disappeared three weeks before, and life hadn't gotten any easier. Almost every day he would pick up the phone to call her, forgetting that her number was disconnected. Anxiety kept him awake and nightmares plagued his sleep. The team's mediwizard had prescribed a nightly sleeping potion so Oliver could rest up for the tournament. Through the potion he gained peaceful nights, but nothing could give him peace during his waking hours.

"We won, Oliver; we're still in the tournament! Cheer up," Farren who had hassled him after the last match handed him a glass of wine.

"Woohoo," Oliver sarcastically responded then threw the wine in his mouth.

"Even I think your attitude could loosen a little, Oliver," Rance handed him another glass of wine. "If it takes alcohol to do that, then so be it. I just want to see you living again, instead of mourning."

"Look I'm smiling," Oliver forced a smile then drank the wine.

"Take an acting class, kid. I'm not convinced," Rance rolled his eyes and sipped his wine.

"Damn!" Oliver cracked a cynical joke. "I tried."

"Two more games and we might be the champions. Isn't that crazy, Oliver?" Rance changed the subject trying anything to lighten Oliver's gloom and doom attitude.

"Absolutely insane."

"It's what every little wizard dreams of," Rance reminisced, recalling his first time on a broom at the tender age of three.

"It's what I've always wanted. I just hope I can get my act together. It would be crazy to come this far and then ruin it." For a split second Oliver wrenched his mind away from Izzy, trying to reconnect to his childhood dreams.

"You won't, Oliver. You're a crazily talented kid. You were made for this," Rance patted him on the back and grabbed another glass of wine. "Are you dreading the lecture from Mr. Bitter after the party?" Everyone on the team knew the celebration was for show. Mr. Doyle wasn't the type to "party."

"Most definitely. It's not going to be pretty."

"Is anything to do with Mr. Doyle pretty?" Rance laughed. "My opinion: live it up, get nice and drunk and the whole lecture will go a lot easier."

"Good idea, hand me another glass. Wine is weak compared to firewhiskey."

-OoOoO-

"Do you guys really call that winning?" Sure enough after the party Brenten Doyle sat the team down for a "post-match pep talk".

"According to the scoreboard we won." Farren never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Being drunk just lowered his sense of tact.

"The scoreboard is bullshit. You guys played like schoolboys. Especially you, Oliver; if it hasn't been for the seeker finding the snitch quickly we would've lost. How many easy shots did you let in?"

"Too many to count," Oliver hiccupped.

"Next match something changes or else, boys." After Mr. Doyle quit speaking the team members, led by Farren, slowly started stumbling out of the locker room. "Oliver I want to talk privately with you sometime," Brenten Doyle pulled Oliver aside. He lowered his voice, and the tone was grave, "It's important."

"Not now Mr. Doyle. I'm drunk."

"Two weeks from now, my mansion," Brenten didn't even ask Oliver if that scheduling was okay. Mr. Doyle knew he had executive power, so he called the shot. "That way it's before the next match. Maybe I'll be able to talk your talent back in."

Author's Note: For the love of Oliver respond!