Some were great athletes, mastering the techniques and strategies of Quidditch, once the most popular wizarding game throughout the world. Sadly, it was hardly ever played again after the accident.
It was four years past the new millennium, and the greatest Quidditch match was to be held at the Hogwarts grounds. Not by current students, but by the alumni of the wizarding school. Ah, my wrinkled mind cannot remember them all at the moment…there was Beech, Bell, Jensen, and of course, Wood. Oliver Wood, at just twenty-nine years of age, was already known as the most distinguished Keeper in all of Hogwart's history. Not too bad of a figure either! The ladies were all over him, but that's a different story for a different time.
The day of the match was grey and windy. Oliver, decked in black, got ready in the locker room. He mumbled under his breath, prepping himself up for the game. Whoever was holding this event failed to give Oliver much information. For one thing, they had contacted him just last night, desperately hoping that he didn't have anything to do the next morning.
Trumpets sounded outside, and Oliver raised his head. It was game time. He grabbed his cherished broomstick since his sixth year, a Thunderbolt 45, developed exclusively to his preferences, and headed out to the field.
The bleachers were full up to the brim, with people of all ages cheering as the players flooded from the locker rooms. Oliver strode out proudly and smiled as he heard the increasing applause. He caught a glimpse of Katie Bell, a former teammate of his, dressed in white, and his heart sank. Biting his lip nervously, he headed over to the beautiful girl, but was stopped short when he heard the announcer commence.
"WELCOME," shouted Quidditch expert Kennilworthy Whisp excitedly, "TO THE MOST ANTICIPATED GAME OF ALL TIME!"
More cheers exploded from the stands.
"I can see you're all ready for this, so HERE THEY ARE!"
The players mounted their brooms and zoomed up as their names were called.
"I am proud to introduce the Black Team: Beaters Gorgon and Beech; Chasers Ullen, Wong, and Peters; Keeper Wood; and Seeker Weasley!"
Once again, an enthusiastic response rushed out from the crowd. Amongst them, two distinctively rowdy redheads attempted to shout above the commotion.
"Lay your wagers, people! Last chance for glory!"
"Bet for Black! That's our bro, there! Finest Seeker there is, the bloke!"
When they realized few people were paying attention to them, they shouted, "Come now, people! Give us a break!"
"We need to replace the shop door! There was a bit of an – accident – with the latest batch of Canary Creams…"
"Ah screw the bets – just come to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, located in Diagon Al –"
The two walking advertisements were quickly silenced by a very irritated Whisp. "Hey Weasleys! Shut your traps!"
Everyone turned to look at the announcer, whose cheeks turned a bright scarlet. Apparently he had forgotten the amplifying spell was still at work.
"Um…and who could forget the White Team!" he stammered quickly. "Beaters Shay and Jensen, chasers Alans, Petri, and Bell (Oliver subconsciously glanced over to her); Keeper Teloti; and Seeker Hamms! Enough chatter – let the game begin!"
A very excited Lee Jordan, dressed in a stately cloak, stepped up to the center of the field and released the Quidditch balls. And they were off!
Alans, of the White Team, was the first to get to the Quaffle, seizing the red ball and dodging the other players. Beater Gorgon attempted to aim the Bludger towards her, but Alans was much too fast on her sleek Nimbus Special Edition. Unfortunately, her aim wasn't too great either. Oliver reacted quickly, but the Quaffle bounced off the rim of the left hoop anyways, causing a loud ring to resonate through the field.
"Tough luck!" proclaimed Whisp. "Gotta work on that aim!"
Peters, of the Black Team, immediately snatched up the Quaffle and darted towards one of the goal posts on the opposite side of the field. Following the path of the Chaser carefully, Shay gripped his wooden club tightly as the Bludger approached, and BAM! The nearly uncontrollable ball slammed violently into Peters' back. The young man arched his back painfully and began a swift descent to the ground. Wood looked down, dismayed at the injury of his teammate, and watched as a few Sideline Flyers promptly saved Peters from the fall and took him away.
"Ooh, that'll keep him in the infirmary for a couple of weeks…" voiced Whisp, a bit worried.
Oliver looked around, and to his relief, saw a reserve player being sent up.
"And here's reserve Chaser Ellings, in for Peters," announced Whisp, regaining his poise.
As the chasers zoomed about the field, passing and intercepting the red Quaffle, Oliver wondered why it was taking Charlie so long to catch the Snitch. He decided that it all must be some fantastic conspiracy to keep this game going as long as possible. A boom was heard all around, and everyone – whether in the bleachers or on a broomstick – gazed upwards to see the grey clouds rolling in menacingly.
After ducking from an incoming Bludger, Oliver inspected the field once again. He watched attentively as Petri and Alans passed the Quaffle in a zigzagged course, avoiding the Bludgers and other players. He kept alert, but his heart skipped a beat at the next pass. Katie Bell had intercepted the red ball, and with a determined grin on her face, she sped off towards the goal.
The announcer was still shouting comments, and the fans in the bleachers were still cheering excitedly, but Oliver couldn't hear any of it. All he could hear was the sweet voice of Katie Bell, the one he had fallen in love with during his fourth year at Hogwarts – the one he was still in love with.
There wasn't anything about her that he didn't love: she had unlimited talent, was one of the brightest students in her class, and treated everyone with a kind of unbiased compassion. And to him, there was no one more wonderful.
A great wind swept passed him, and suddenly Oliver shook off his daydreams. Katie Bell was nearing him, Quaffle under her arm, eyes directed towards the closely-approaching goal post.
I can't do it, thought Oliver miserably. He watched her speed towards him, a small part of him hoping that she might just stop and proclaim her undying love for him at any second. Who am I kidding? Oliver thought, shaking himself from his hopelessness. Why would someone as gorgeous, as talented ever want…
Oliver never got to finish his thoughts. He merely had the chance to raise his eye contact enough to see red zoom through a hoop and hear cheers explode from the crowd. The weight of a Bludger, black as a Grim, had found contact at the back of his head. A terrifying crack, although drowned by the sounds of the stadium, resonated in the ears of nearby players. Without a second thought, or even a signal from Lee, all the players stopped. The scene was frozen, paused in the moment of inevitable dread.
People jumped to their feet, gasps and cries echoing through the audience as Oliver's limp body slumped forward, almost as if he was too tired to hold on. The clouds in the sky were suddenly very dark, looming above the field. A rumble shook the stands, but nobody paid attention, even when the drops began to hurtle down on them.
Everything seemed to be playing in slow motion. Oliver's head lolled as he rolled off his broom and began his descent. Many players, regardless of the color they were wearing, zoomed forward, their arms outstretched in attempt to catch his limp figure, but none was fast enough. That didn't keep them from trying, however. Charlie flew past the all and nose-dived downward at breakneck speed, hurtling closer and closer to his unconscious body.
But the gods were unfavorable that day.
Sensing his utter determination, a strong flurry of winds shot out, aiming viciously at Charlie. He was caught off guard and was blown towards the other side of the field. He could no more than watch as Oliver's body fell, at last, to the green grass below.
The stadium was so silent, so tense; the thud could have been heard for miles around. Lee Jordan sprinted toward the heap that was his body, followed closely by Whisp and then every single spectator in the stands, concern boiling in their very blood. The players flew down as well, some with stern looks in their eyes, others with tears. No one doubted it, yet perhaps somewhere deep inside all of them, there was the slightest flicker of hope.
Charlie Weasley pushed through the crowd and knelt by Oliver's body apprehensively. A part of him, like everyone else, didn't want to know, but the other part needed to know. He swallowed deep, his eyes quickly filling with tears. He looked up, not really at anyone in particular. It was almost as if he were looking up towards the sky itself. But he didn't need to say a word.
The players stayed close and tried to comfort each other, although most had trouble enough comforting themselves. Katie couldn't keep herself from shaking, both in misery and terror. …A guy like him. So gifted, so charming, so devoted, she thought despondently. Through her water-filled eyes, she could hardly see as Charlie pulled out his wand and mumbled something under his breath, trying to stop his own tears. Oliver's body was slowly laid straight, his hands folded on top of each other above.
Charlie didn't get up from the ground. He remained kneeling besides his old friend, his eyes closed tightly. Katie soon felt the need to kneel as well, finding her spot next to Charlie. Fred and George also emerged from the crowd and knelt beside their older brother and once Quidditch captain.
Tears rolled down everyone's cheeks, but nobody made a sound. It was as if still nobody noticed the horrid weather, or more likely, nobody cared. After what seemed to be a lifetime, people slowly began to find their way inside, towards the castle. Yet Katie and the Weasleys didn't have the slightest intention of moving. Besides their old friend, there they would stay, accompanying him until he found his way towards the bliss that waited for him above.
Katie Bell wanted to apologize for never trying, for hiding her feelings. She wanted to take Oliver's hand, cold and stiff as it was, and plead for him to come back, even if it was just for a second. But what use was there to speak, to apologize for things that happened in the past? They were things that could never be fixed, never be forgiven.
The rain settled down a bit. No longer did thin knives of water attack the few remaining spectators who stood on the field. These people knew that this sport, that Quidditch, was no more. They felt the love of the game, the once fierce flame of spirit and determination, die away as the clear teardrops from above fell upon them without hurry.