Quidditch - There Is Nothing More Important
The Victory Party, A Surprise Girlfriend, More Training and the Slytherin Vs Ravenclaw Grudge Match
Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. Unfortunately.
Beta'd by Dorothea Greengrass and Thundercracker-TC much appreciated.
—Quidditch—
A half an hour spent in Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies delayed their arrival. The party was clearly in full swing by the time the Gryffindor Quidditch team reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The thump of music blasted through the canvas.
Small blocks of cheese peeked out from the Fat Lady's ears, they were so effective that Oliver had to holler the password to open the way. As the portrait swung to the side, a wall of noise hit them in a shock wave. Oliver grimaced. Merlin, that was loud!
The twins exchanged a look, pulled their wands, and cast silencing charms on the frame, back of the canvas and the walls of the tunnel inside. The rest of the team left them to it and entered the common room to a massive cheer.
Gryffindor Tower was rocking.
Oliver turned to see if the twins were going to join them again. Once the team was complete, Oliver raised his hands for silence. This was almost a ritual for the house at this point, started by some winning captain in the dim and distant past.
The room fell silent. Their fellow Gryffindors stared at him with bated breath, some crouched, some with clenched fists. The first years looked confused, not understanding what was going on.
Oliver clenched his fist and punched the air.
"GRYFFINDOR!" he roared.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The entire common room, except the first years, joined his cry of triumph.
He punched the air again.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The room shook with the explosion of noise and emotion.
He punched the air for a third time.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Everyone had taken up the battlecry now, the shrill voices of the first years stood out.
Red faced and panting, Oliver held his hand out for silence and composed himself. When the house didn't have the head boy or girl, the students deferred to the Quidditch captain. Oliver knew the other houses did it differently, but here, this year, he was top dog.
"Gryffs, I present your winning team: Alicia Spinnet!" A massive cheer forced him to pause.
"Katie Bell—Angelina Johnson—Fred Weasley—George Weasley—" He had to take a breath.
"Oliver Wood!" George overrode him before he could open his mouth again.
Another massive cheer rocked the common room
Oliver threw George an annoyed look. He'd wondered which twin would interrupt him, one of them always did.
"Aaand—"
Oliver paused. you could hear a pin drop in the silence.
"Harry Potter!"
The largest cheer of the night followed and it rolled on.
Oliver grinned and turned to look at Harry. Predictably, he had blushed bright red, but looked very pleased with himself nevertheless.
Oliver raised a hand again for quiet.
"A good start to the year. Lots of work to do and a lot of Quidditch to play, but tonight, we have fun and celebrate!" He threw both arms in the air to another massive cheer.
With a flick of his wand, Lee Jordan turned the music back on, and Miles Owen levitated ice cold bottles of butterbeer over to the team.
Oliver turned back to his squad and gestured them closer so they could hear.
"Go wild, kids, Sunday tomorrow, no school, no Quidditch, plus McGonagall told me that she was sleeping in her office tonight. Lions on three: One, two, three."
"Lions!" The team chanted, clinked bottles together, and drank.
It was a good start.
—Quidditch—
About three hours later, the prefects shuffled the first and second years off to bed. Someone reduced the music to human hearing levels—no need to alarm any teachers or Filch who might pass the hallway outside the common room, in case the twin's Silencing Charms failed—and the drinking games began.
Oliver sat on a sofa, wedged between a tipsy Emily Roberts and Alicia. This wasn't a quiet affair, it never was when Weasley twin drinking games were involved.
Their current and fourth drinking game was called 'The Drunk Pirate'. The rules were rather simple. A stack of cards sat on the table before the players. They took turns picking a card. Everyone playing had to shout 'Arrr!' and take a drink whenever a card was picked up from the pack on the table. The player who had picked up the card then had to do whatever the card instructed.
Sarah Morris picked up a card.
"Arrr!"
Everyone drank and gazed at the sixth year, who was trying to focus on the card, forehead creased in concentration.
"Take another drink," she cried.
"Arrr!"
Everyone tilted back their heads and downed a swallow.
"You didn't drink enough, Allie!" Fred pointed an accusing finger at the chaser.
Alicia gave him the stink eye. "Piss off, Freddy, if I drink much more I'll be sick on your shoes."
Fred's eyes widened in comical horror and he muttered something into his glass that they couldn't understand, which was probably for the better.
Oliver snickered to himself. Even the twins knew that it was a bad idea to annoy one of their chasers. The retaliation inbound from the three would be hellish.
George picked up a card.
"Arrr!" Everyone drank.
"Hum a song and the first to guess chooses who drinks next," George read out.
He paused, then wagged a finger at the beat of the music in his head and started to hum and bob his head to his own tune.
"The Little Cauldron!" two people shouted in glee. There was a brief silence, then sniggers followed.
"Angie and Mikey can pick one each," George said.
"I pick Angie!" a tipsy Michael Brown shouted.
"Well, I choose Mikey," Angelina retorted with a death glare.
"Ah, shit," Michael cursed, and the group broke out into laughter.
"Arrr!" They both drank.
"'Scuse me," Oliver said and got up, "I'm off to the little wizard's room."
That sparked a mass exodus for the loos as they suddenly realised they had been drinking steadily for over an hour, and the game was abandoned.
—Quidditch—
"Ollie, we are organising a pick up game on Sunday, are you interested?" Anita McDuff asked him on his way to his dorm.
Quidditch was not just the sport of the Quidditch team; the general school population did more than just spectate. Every weekend as long as the weather was good enough, Madam Hooch ran a Quidditch workshop so students not in a team could practice and play thirty minute long games in a mini tournament. The snitch was bewitched to appear on minute twenty nine. In the preceding week the acting Quidditch captain had to announce the team name. She didn't require a complete team sheet as it regularly changed. Friendships, girlfriend trouble and homework were all variables too complicated to predict.
"Not this weekend, 'Nita," he told his fellow seventh year Gryffindor. "I've got some homework I want to get finished, I can't let it build up like I did last year. Dad keeps telling me there's more to life than Quidditch."
"You believe that?" she asked him, smirking.
"Hell, no, but if I don't keep up, both dad and the Prof said they'd pull me off the team, can't have that," he replied with a shudder.
—Quidditch—
On his return, Oliver wandered past the fireplace. A motion in his peripheral vision caused him to do a double take. Wedged into a wing tipped arm chair were Harry and Katie, their faces very close together, Katie's legs across Harry's lap. They were in a serious discussion.
"…cut your hair…show your eye," he heard Katie say, and Harry nodded in agreement. Oliver shook himself, it was time to go find Lee Jordan and the fire whiskey.
As he approached the table Lee had requisitioned for his bar, he came into range of another conversation.
"…so I said to Ron: where else was I meant to put Reggie? And he just stammered: 'Ssssppiidderr iiinn myyyy bbeedd!' I said he was in a box, but he wasn't having any of it. Completely threw his toys out of his pram. I tried telling him hitting the box with a pillow wasn't going to help, but he wasn't listening. So I summoned the box and left as he was shrieking about it being on his leg. Did you know he has a thing for spiders?" Lee asked George.
"He's never said anything to me or Fred, but Harry mentioned something about Acrumantulas and dad's car. I didn't really understand it, though." George replied.
"Harry's over there, let's ask him," Lee said.
"No, don't, he's busy with-" Oliver said, but Lee did not let him finish and hollered across the common room, "Oi ,Potter, come over here, will ya!"
Oliver face-palmed. Harry and Katie got up and separated. Harry ambled over and Katie disappeared up the girls' staircase.
"You called, Lee?" Harry grinned.
"Yeah mate, what's with you and Katie?" George asked and put a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder.
The younger boy shrugged. "I'm not really sure, we kissed a few times and she told me I should get my hair cut." He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.
Amused sniggering followed his statement.
"Harry, mate, I think you might have got yourself a girlfriend. Did you cover that part yet?" Fred didn't bother to mask his sniggers.
"Maybe when the music was playing, I couldn't really tell what she was saying. I just nodded and she jumped on me and kissed me again." Harry's blush deepened, and a reluctant grin spread on his face as the funny side dawned on him.
The five boys around him were almost crying with laughter by the time he had finished. Lee just handed him a butterbeer and patted his shoulder.
Harry accepted the drink."Was that what you called me over for?" He took a long swallow, emptying the bottle, and held it out to Lee with a burp, "Can I have another?"
"Yeah, but what's this about an acromantula?" Lee handed him a fresh bottle and Harry put it to his lips, "I was talking to Ron the other day in your dorm, I put my tarantula box on his bed for a minute and he flipped out."
Harry snorted butterbeer out of his nose and descended into coughing just as Katie joined the group and rescued the bottle from Harry's slackening grip and took a sip.
"Bloody hell!" Harry wheezed. "I wondered what had happened. When I walked in, he had stripped his bed and was standing on mine, whacking my trunk with his broom."
He descended into a coughing fit again as the group broke into laughter.
"He better not have damaged it. That's my old broom, I've got good memories with that bunch of twigs." Fred muttered.
Harry slapped his chest to clear the obstruction and continued, "He's never liked spiders, but last year when we were trying to find the Chamber of Secrets, Hagrid told me to follow the spiders. We—ah, Ron and I followed them into the Forbidden Forest and found an acromantula colony. They are not small. Your dad's car saved us." He gave a nod to the twins. "It had been in the forest since the start of term. Ron's been a bit jumpy ever since."
He trailed off and silence greeted him. Everyone was staring at him, jaws hanging open. He reached up and gently closed Katie's mouth.
"Seriously? Why did no one tell us?" George was aghast. "We'd have come with you! Bloody hell, no wonder he freaked out. Think I'll have that fire whiskey now, Lee."
A round of agreements echoed his sentiment, and everyone soon held a glass of the amber liquid.
"Erm, I know why Ron didn't mention it. He still has nightmares and won't want you lot picking on him. I suppose it didn't seem that important after..." Harry trailed off and gave the twins a meaningful glance.
"Oh yeah, Ginny," George said, and Harry grimaced and nodded.
Oliver glanced between both of them, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Did I miss something? What happened to your sister?"
"I can't say, Ollie, sorry. My dad told us not to. Maybe later on, but not now." George looked more serious than Oliver had ever seen him. "I think I'll go and have a chat with my little bro."
With that he left the group and they floundered for a conversation starter. Lee found one.
"So Katie," he said with a Cheshire Cat grin, white teeth bright against his dark skin, "do you have a boyfriend? Young Harry here said he's not entirely sure…"
—Quidditch—
Minerva McGonagall removed fifteen silencing charms from the Fat Lady's portrait, the floor, the ceiling, the walls on either side of the portrait, and, once opened, the back of the portrait, and the tunnel to the common room.
She nodded, impressed. That had been good work by the Weasley twins, their magical signature was hard to miss. Of course she would never tell them, she knew better than to encourage those two hellions. She took a breath and steeled herself for a trashed common room before she ventured further into the common room and looked around.
Not one cushion was damaged, that was a pleasant surprise. The only thing out of place was a misshapen lump of arms and legs on the sofa that faced the fireplace. She cleared her throat to see if either of the occupants were anywhere near consciousness.
"Mr Potter, Miss Bell," she said in full stern teacher mode. "Are you awake?"
She received an incoherent mumble in response.
She pulled out her wand and took aim.
The two teens gasped, tried to free themselves from the tangled blanket, and one of them tumbled to the ground in a heap. An audible thud followed as a body collided with the wooden floor boards. The pile of blankets, now on the floor, groaned pitifully.
"I understand that my aguamenti charm is particularly cold, possibly the result of my upbringing in the highlands." She emphasised her Scottish burr to prove her point. Too bad that her irony probably was lost on her two lions.
"Nope, nope, I'm awake!" Harry sat up on the sofa, tousled and wide eyed. He blinked up at her like an owlet in broad daylight. "Why are you in my bedroom, professor?"
The blanket on the floor moved aside to reveal an equally tousled Katie Bell. Both teens were fully clothed, much to Minerva's intense relief. That wasn't always the case when she had to rouse young couples in the common room. However, some words of warning were in order, although she detested these conversations.
"A good night, I take it?" She looked from one to the other. "Are congratulations in order?"
"A grand night, professor," Katie answered for Harry as she sat up. "We are-," she glanced at Harry, "seeing where things go."
Harry blushed. He was adorable, just like his father when she had caught James making out with his mother.
"Well, as long as things remain fully clothed, you may continue." Minerva McGonagall sniffed imperiously.
Both teenagers blushed this time.
The warmth of satisfaction filled her, it was one of life's little pleasures when she could trap her charges in a double entendre. This was simply purrfect.
—Quidditch—
A low murmur filled the great hall during breakfast. There were so few Gryffindors present that the house elves had only set places for a dozen people. The day following a Gryffindor party was always slow.
Harry stared down at the untouched single slice of buttered toast he had thought he could stomach, then up at the only Weasley sibling who had never missed a meal. The sight of Ron gobbling down his breakfast made his stomach lurch. Harry averted his eyes, reached past the plate to pick up his glass of water, and sipped slowly.
Hermione Granger chuckled next to him and added more baked beans to her plate. "Feeling rough?" The wink was probably meant mischievously, but to Harry in his hungover state it simply felt mean.
He turned a baleful glare up at his supposed 'friend.' Hermione had had two bottles of butterbeer, raised a disdainful eyebrow at the invitation to a drinking game, and tucked herself in bed with Animagi For Beginners. She had no idea how the rest of her house was suffering.
"So, Harry, Katie Bell?" Hermione asked.
The innocent question came with another wink, and Ron actually stopped mid-chew and focused on Harry with an unholy gleam in his eye. There were days he wondered why he was friends with these two.
"George told me about the reward for catching the snitch." Hermione smirked.
"It wasn't for catching the snitch. It was for getting her out of the shitty weather," Harry said calmly and took another sip. If these two clowns thought they'd get a rise out of him, they were mistaken.
Ron snorted and almost choked on the food he had forgotten to swallow. He forced it down, opened his mouth to speak then gave up as he collapsed into a coughing fit.
They watched him struggle to regain control. Hermione shrugged and turned back to interrogate Harry again.
"And what happened after the…ehm...reward?" she said with a strange empasis on reward.
So she thought she was free to tease him about his new relationship status? She should know him better than to assume he'd just roll over and let her have her way. As if he didn't know why she had asked the way she did. She wished her inner Gryffindor had been as brave as Katie's had been and now she took her frustration out on him.
"Why did you say reward in such a weird way there, Mione?" Harry asked innocently.
She hated being called 'Mione, so both he and Ron dusted it off at times like these, when they wanted to get up her nose.
She froze; it took her longer to recover than Harry had expected she would. Her eyes tightened fractionally, and he knew that she knew he had caught on.
"Clearly, you know more than I want you to," she huffed.
Was that annoyance to mask her embarrassment? Harry sighed, he'd never wanted to annoy her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and slid her along the bench until she was tucked into his side.
She relaxed into the hug and rested her head against his shoulder.
"I know," he whispered into her ear.
Hermione sniffed twice, then removed herself from his touch and turned back to her meal.
Ron had finally emptied his mouth and rebooted his brain. "What are you two on about? Is this a reward anyone can have?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.
The tips of Ron's ears turned red. "Why are you laughing?" When he got only more laughter in response, he huffed. "You're both weird. I'm going to sit with Ginny."
Ron sent an annoyed glare at his two friends who were still laughing at him, collected his plate, and stomped off towards the second years seated near the middle of the table.
The laughter subsided. Harry and Hermione watched the oblivious storm cloud sit next to his sister and glanced at each other. The giggling started again.
"Oh, I do love Ron," Hermione said. "I'm happy for you Harry, a proper relationship, get you!"
"I don't know what this is yet," Harry said in a low tone. "It all happened really quickly, but Katie is so certain. We talked this morning after McGonagall woke us up and-"
"What!?" Hermione's shout interrupted him, and she stared at him horrified.
"No! It's not what you think!" He yelled, and heads on the table turned towards them. In a much quieter voice he continued, "We were talking last night and she fell asleep. Then I did. We woke up this morning on the sofa, no idea where the blanket came from. Katie fell off the sofa when McGonagall threatened to aguamenti us and I asked her why she was in my bedroom."
Hermione giggled again. "You did what? Oh, I wish I could have seen her face!"
"No, you don't." Harry shuddered. "I couldn't stop blushing. Katie told her we were seeing where things go, and McGonagall said at least our things were fully clothed. I thought I was going to die."
Hermione belly laughed and fell off the bench. She sat up as Fred and George stopped next to her head and looked down.
"Did you break another witch, Potter?" one Weasley twin asked. They offered Hermione a hand each.
Harry turned his head, mouth full of bread and gestured to the table next to him as he chewed. The Weasley twins sat and as one, stuck forks into sausage and bacon respectively and proceeded to load up their plates.
"Hermione?" the other twin asked.
"Oh, not again." Hermione covered her face and grinned.
Harry cleared his throat.
"I was telling her how McGonagall found me and Katie this morning…"
—Quidditch—
"Ron look, a spider!"
Shriek.
"Fred, will you stop that, I jump every time he yells," Alicia told him.
"I know, a twofer." George grinned.
"Who told you? I've kept it a secret for ages," Ron demanded as red tinged his ears.
—Quidditch—
Oliver stood with his classmates next to the seventh year herbology greenhouse. His parents still weren't happy he had chosen the herbology NEWT and had told him horror stories of close calls, injuries and painful deaths, and the ridiculously high death rate.
He had still enrolled, and so far no one had died. The worst that had happened was Percy getting a shiny burn scar on his left forearm when he pruned a Devil's Snare. Oliver huffed out a laugh. Percy had flinched as the plant moved and had burnt himself. He still hadn't lived it down three years later. Needless to say, Percy hadn't taken the Herbology NEWT.
A book sailed through the air, bounced off Oliver's back, and thumped onto the ground.
"What sort of keeper are you that you can't even catch a book, Wood?" Flint's harsh voice growled at him.
Oliver turned and raised an eyebrow. Marcus Flint, a tall, well built young man with misaligned teeth and shifty eyes, advanced on him.
"I'm really impressed you hit what you were aiming at, Flint. Or was your aim just bad and you were going for the head," Olivier replied evenly. His fingers twitched in anticipation of drawing his wand.
Flint sneered again. "Do you really think you'll get enough points to beat us to the trophy? How will your mudblood bitches keep up with us, now we are even better on our Nimbuses."
The slur against his chasers caused Oliver's blood pressure to spike, but he didn't move. He just stared Flint down and ground his teeth.
Flint smirked viciously. "Cat got your tongue? We've got some special plays lined up for them. They won't know what hit 'em. We'll let the bludgers pound on them. They'll be crawling back on their hand and knees by the time Malfoy catches the snitch from under Potters stupid nose." Flint was getting into his stride now. Stifled sniggers from the Slytherins who surrounded him egging him on.
Oliver's fists clenched under his armpits.
"Why, I bet they'll even beg-" Flint's jaw kept wagging for a few more seconds, but no sound came out. The gathered students would never know what the Gryffindor chasers would beg for as a voice thundered behind the Slytherins.
The Slytherin students spun around and collectively blanched.
"I think you've said quite enough Mr Flint. I will not stand for such abusive language in this school. That will be fifty points from Slytherin and a week of detention with me and a week with Mr Filch." Professor Sprout was vibrating with fury. She flicked her wand and Flint flinched but all that happened was two paper aeroplanes emerging from her wand tip and zooming away. Next to her stood Professor Vector who glowered at the seventh year.
"Septima, would you mind escorting Mr Flint to the Headmaster's office? After the last time, he expressed a wish to have a discussion with the young man, and I have this lot to teach," Professor Sprout asked her colleague.
"I was only collecting some mint cuttings for my tea, Pomona. I will get some later. Come Flint. We will probably meet Professor Snape on the way up."
"I will bring some to the staff room after lunch." Professor Sprout nodded a thanks to her colleague and turned her attention to the gathered students. "In you go then. There's no need to look so smug, Mr Wood, I know exactly what you would have been doing if I hadn't been here."
"I don't know what you mean, Professor," Oliver smirked back at her. He waited until Professor Sprout had walked past him, kicked Flint's book under the bush next to him, and followed her inside.
—Quidditch—
"Wood! Where's my book!?" Flint snarled.
"What book would that be, Flint?" Oliver asked mildly. It had been a little over a week since he had seen Marcus Flint. The Flint-free week had been bliss during his suspension.
"That was a library book you've lost, Pince will skin you alive for that." Flint said maliciously.
"How did I lose it? It's your book. Where did you last see it?" Oliver asked helpfully.
"Outside the herbology greenhouse, where you didn't catch it." Flint sneered.
"Well, did you look there? It's been over a week in Scottish weather. I don't fancy your chances with Pince. I heard the last person who damaged a book was banned for life." Oliver knew no such thing, but it sounded good.
Flint snarled and stomped off. Oliver pulled a shrunken item from his pocket and stared at it contemplatively.
"What's that Ollie?" Clare Frobisher asked him.
"This? Oh, it's Flint's book. I am looking after it for him, all he has to do is ask for it back." Oliver deadpanned.
Snickering greeted him.
—Quidditch—
"Davies," Oliver called, "can I have a word?"
The empty stone corridor echoed with the footsteps of unseen students. Oliver was lucky he had found Davies alone, he had been trying for days.
Roger Davies paused in his purposeful stride and looked over his shoulder. "Hi Wood, how can I help you?"
Davies was an enigma to Oliver. He wasn't an outgoing and energetic athlete like the majority of Quidditch players that Oliver knew. A typical Ravenclaw, he was more at home in the library than in the Quidditch locker room. The banter and easy conversation was not there with Roger Davies. However, he was still a good man if only an average Quidditch Captain.
Oliver knew he was the superior strategist.
"Did you hear what happened the other week, with Flint?" Oliver managed to restrain his smirk to a twitch of his lips. He had enjoyed watching the arrogant, horrid boy mouth off in front of two professors. It had been a dream come true and so difficult to remain still and silent.
"I did. A week's suspension for repeat offences and two weeks of detention? Wow."
"I think it was the complete lack of remorse. I hear Snape has already asked for the game to be postponed. Are you going to agree?" Oliver asked.
The Hogwarts Quidditch Captains Charter that every captain had to sign before their first game in charge states amongst other things, if a game is to be postponed both captains have to agree and they cannot be pressured to a decision. The choice must be made with the good of the game in mind.
"Am I hell, he brought that onto himself. It's not my job to make it easier on Slytherin." Davies snorted.
"Snape will make your life difficult." Oliver said.
"Like I care. I didn't get an O so I won't be seeing him in class anyway." Davies replied. "What do you need?"
Oliver handed across some rolled up parchment. "Beat him like a drum." he said and turned to walk away.
"Are these your plays?" Davies asked, shock clear in his voice.
"No Rog, they're your plays," Oliver replied, he did not stop or turn around.
"It's Roger not Rog," Davies muttered.
Oliver grinned.
—Quidditch—
Angelina huffed, puffed and sweated. The weather was not pleasant and she was not enjoying herself. "Ollie," she said in a deceptively calm voice.
Three male heads perk up from their defeated posture like meerkats.
"Yes Angie," Oliver replied, still staring at his trainers trying to slow his breathing.
"How many more are you going to have us run?" Angie continued. The strain in her voice was a clear indication she kept her temper under tight control.
"Oh, I don't know, probably five more. Why?" he asked, sitting down with a groan as his back stretched out.
"You do realise that Quidditch is a flying sport, don't you?" Angelina's voice rose slightly as she said flying.
"You can't get proper conditioning from flying alone, you know that, Angie." He had looked up by now and the rest of the team were on their feet.
"You're not seeming to understand my drift here, Oliver. We've run up this bloody hill twenty one times. Twenty. One. Times. I don't care how much of an obsessive compulsive you are and like large round numbers. If you say we have to do this one more time, I will kick you into the lake!"
Oliver pulled a face and his self preservation instincts finally kicked in. Ah, Angelina had been grouchy for the last few days. Was it her time of the month? Oh.
"Oh, look at the time. I think we will have some beater drills and the chasers can hit the showers." Oliver's eyes only widened slightly as he waited for Angelina's verdict of his decision. She simply huffed and set off at a brisk walk toward the distant Quidditch pitch and associated showers. Oliver could hear the other two girls stifle giggles.
Four teenagers watched the three witches walk away, and a Weasley twin turned to his captain.
"Very brave there, Ollie." George commented.
"Did you think I should have told her we have nine more to do?" Oliver asked him incredulously.
"No, but I would have paid good money to see her try and kick you into the lake," George replied.
The group chuckled and the humour lifted their spirits enough to get them moving.
"Where are you three going?" Oliver asked.
"The Quidditch pitch. We've got beater practice, and Harry can practice dodging them," Fred said, confused.
"What?" Harry squarked.
"Oh no boys, it's not your time of the month," Oliver grinned maliciously, "We've got nine more hill runs to do. Dodging bludgers comes after."
Oliver laughed at the groans which answered him.
—Quidditch—
The day started innocently enough, a delayed first year class Professor Sprout had kept back had caused a congestion of students outside the row of greenhouses.
General house rivalries required some one upmanship, my founder is better than your founder, we are kinder to kittens.
"Is it cold and damp under the lake?"
"We're badgers, we're meant to live underground. Anyway we can get snacks wherever we walk right past the kitchen portrait."
"Ah, he's got a point there."
"Do you get a nose bleed being so high up in your ivory tower like a murder of crows?"
"Oh that's very clever! You live in a tower too don't you? Do you know the name for a group of Gryffindors? A Stupid of Gryffindors!"
"That's not a real thing. We're a Bravery of Lions."
"It's not much better than a herd of stupid 'Duffers, mud blood-lovers the lot of you."
"Who invited you, Warrington? No one wants a slimy snake."
"Snakes aren't slimy! Densaugeo!"
"Argh, what have you done!"
"Oi, that's my mate! Calvorio!"
"Cantis!"
"Colovaria!"
"First years out of the way! Move! Accio! Accio! Accio!"
Spells flung left and right. Some responsible souls summoned the first and second years as a battle erupted in between the greenhouses.
Professor Sprout, drawn by the noise and light of magic combat, hurried out of Greenhouse number four.
"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Enough! Don't any of you have the sense God gave to a gnome? You don't fling spells around a magical greenhouse! What were you all thinking? Detention and all of you will be explaining yourselves to Professor McGonagall this afternoon. Now get to your next class!" She flicked her wand and sent a paper airplane zooming to the nearest open window in the castle.
—Quidditch—
This was it. Today was the day. The one he had been waiting for. Ravenclaw vs Slytherin, the next match up and prime scouting territory.
All the stands were full, it was a lovely clear day if a bit blustery, but he had his Quidditch scarf and hat on and a warming charm on his hands. A leather bound notebook, muggle style, was resting on his lap, charmed so only he could see it. The expensive muggle pen his father had bought him for this very reason rested in the centrefold.
Madam Hooch stood over the Quidditch storage box and glanced around to check everything was in place.
Professor Snape had chosen the Slytherin prefect Edmund Speirs as commentator. Oliver assumed the fact that the Slytherin sixth year was a prefect might make him commentate responsibly. Or maybe pigs might fly. None of the commentators acted responsibly. It was in the job description and the reason why a professor was in the box with them.
The Ravenclaw choice would cause friction. Had Professor Flitwick done it for that very reason? Oliver chuckled to himself, he wouldn't put it past the Flitwick. Quidditch was everything, and every edge helped.
Marcus Turner, fifth year prefect was a muggleborn. Oliver knew Marcus fairly well. He lived in Ottery St. Catchpole and Oliver had knocked about with the boy and the Weasleys. There hadn't been that many children in such a small village. But Marcus did know his Quidditch.
"And here come the teams!" Turner began, "First, Ravenclaw! Page! Inglebee! Samuels! Captain Davies! Burrow! And Chang!"
"The green blur mounted on the top of the line Nimbus two thousand-and-ones, is the Slytherin team!" Speirs drawled. He made it sound like he was excited and didn't want to be there at the same time. It was a special skill. "Bletchley! Derrick! Bole! Flint who is once again captain! Montague! Warrington! And Draco Malfoy!"
Oliver grudgingly admitted that Speirs at least knew the Slytherin players' names.
The two teams streaked around the stadium in opposite directions. When they passed above the Gryffindor stand Oliver could hear the clatter of wood on flesh, followed by a yell.
"Looks like the dirty tricks brigade has started early today," George said from the seat over. He leaned forward to look across Alicia and give Oliver a serious look. "We're better off flying higher or wider when we cross."
The whole team nodded in agreement.
"Bunch of trolls," Angelina muttered from the other side of George, his arm across her shoulders. "Waste of perfectly good racing brooms there."
Oliver knew she was still bitter about some of the fouls the Slytherin team got away with and their behaviour off the pitch. Hooch was good, but she needed eyes in the back of her head to see everything that went on.
"They'll get theirs, Angie. They are big buggers, but a poo on a broom is a quick poo and it doesn't mean it can play Quidditch," Fred said philosophically.
The entire team turned to stare at Fred who looked as innocent as the day he had been born. He sat in the row in front and half turned to speak to them.
"What?" he asked straight faced.
"I think what my mentally challenged brother means is that we are a better team, are well drilled and are fitter than those fat lumps of lard on racing brooms. Let's see how well they keep up with us after hour three," George translated his brother's words.
"Isn't that what I said," Fred asked, confused.
"I think we'll use the Spatchcock defence when we play them," Oliver decided. "We need something more aggressive than Catchpole to combat their speed, no matter how poo-like they are." He shook his head to try and clear the imagery.
He made a note, then directed his attention towards Madam Hooch who was in the process of reading the Slytherins the riot act.
"I have never seen such callous, careless flying in my whole career! I have a good mind to ban you out right for the entire season, Mr Derrick. If you have caused more damage than a contusion, you will be. Miss Chang, go see Madam Pomfrey now, please. We shall wait." Madam Hooch was furious. "I suggest you have a word with your team, Mr Flint. I don't care that you haven't been here. Any more of this will lead to point deduction for every offence, and if it endangers a players life and I judge it to be malicious, it will be game forfeiture. Take your team over to your posts and impress the seriousness of the situation."
Madam Hooch instructed the Ravenclaw players to wait in position and descended to converse with Professor Snape, who glowered from his position in the commentary box.
"He does look like an overly large bat, doesn't he." Katie observed from her position under Harry's arm. She had tugged his hand as far around as it would reach and interlaced her fingers with his.
The comment came during a lull in the gusting wind and the entire stand heard it. Snape's head whipped around to see who had said it but all he could see was a wall of poker-straight faces.
Snape twisted in his seat fully and glared suspiciously at the students in general and the Gryffindor team in particular for an additional second, then turned back to an irate Madam Hooch.
The team fell into muffled sniggers and only regained control when Chang rejoined her team.
"Heed my warning, Flint, if you cannot control your team, I will seriously consider Hogwart bans." Madam Hooch glowered at him. "I have the backing of your head of house in this."
As one the Slytherin team turned to look at the Potions Master, then back at the referee again.
"Clear, Madam," Flint said.
"You are well, Miss Chang?" Madam Hooch addressed the Ravenclaw seeker.
"Yes Ma'am," Chang replied. "A bruise only."
"Very well." Madam Hooch descended to the pitch and opened the chest. First the snitch was released, then the bludgers, and finally she picked up the quaffle and regained altitude.
With a final baleful glare at Marcus Flint she flung the quaffle high into the air and the game was on.
"The quaffle toss has been won by Slytherin!" Turner began, he had been a split second before Speirs. Turner must have felt the heat of Spier's glare that was turned his way.
"Montague, with some fancy broom work there to avoid both bludgers and a 'Claw chasers' blatant attempt at blatching!" Speirs interrupted Turner. "Pass to Warrington, another bludger aimed at Montague, Warrington is away! Pass to Flint! He's being Sheparded towards the stand by Davies and Stretton! That's surely a foul! Ref!"
"Mr Speirs," Professor Snape drawled, "as much as I might agree that there is some suspect play; it is not your place to call fouls."
The two Ravenclaw chasers had sandwiched Flint between their bodies and as he had tried to pass to Warrington, Davis had plucked the quaffle out of his hand. Both Ravenclaw chasers leant backwards hard and flicked their brooms over in a loop and descended rapidly, the quaffle being passed to Stretton who streaked across the field while Davies attacked the goal area but pulled out.
"Flint is dispossessed by Davis and is not happy about it! And no, that was not blatching, Speirs! Davies attacks the goal area—no it's a feint! Stretton to Burrow, to Stretton! Bletchley has positioned himself to defend against Davies! He's back tracking, but he's had to swerve as a bludger almost takes his head off! The left hand hoop is unprotected! Burrow shoots, he scores! Ten nothing to Ravenclaw!"
Turner leapt to his feet with both arms in the air like he had won a race.
Oliver looked straight ahead as the stares of his chaser teammates burned into the side of his head. A finger poked into his side caused him to flinch.
"Ollie, you didn't…" Alicia asked.
"Didn't what, Allie?" He turned to her, innocence written on his soul.
"Did you give our plays to the 'Claws?" Angelina grated out.
"I really want him to beat Flint like a drum," Oliver sighed. "I gave them five. Pork," he gestured at the ongoing match. "Gentle, Calamity, Fame and Carl."
"But why Ollie," Fred asked. "Let them win their own game."
"Two reasons Fred," Oliver told him. "The reason Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff don't win more matches is their lack of imagination with tactics and plays. Flint is an arse, but he's clever. Davies is an average playmaker. Second place in the championship will come down to us and Slytherin again, and the more the 'Claws score today the better for us. I might do it for the Snake-'Puff game too."
Fred looked mollified, but Angelina didn't.
"Does that mean we can't use those plays, Ollie? We've been practicing bloody hard!"
"Course not, Angie. It's the same as everyone uses the Hawkhead, knowing what it is doesn't mean you can defend against it. Plus, if they're expecting Pork when two of you sandwich Flint like that, but we do Pork Bacon…"
"Ahhh," the three chasers chorused.
"I'm hungry now," Harry complained. "Is that seller coming back soon?"
"...Calm down, Turner, it's going to be a long match!" Speirs chided him. "Chang is diving! Malfoy! Malfoy wasn't even looking! Useless! Now he sees it, but he's far too late! He's driving hard after her! Feint! She pulls out and he does too, but only barely!" Speirs raged apoplectic.
"Samuels pinged a bludger in Malfoys direction just as Chang started her dive!" Turner struggled to keep the humour out of his voice. "Clearly a planned move! Davies has the quaffle! Burrow and Stetton join him in a Hawkhead, and Stretton peels off in a classic chaser move, drawing a bludger and Montague, but Davies still has it! They parted around Flint! Pass to Burrow! Was that an attempt at blatching?"
"Ollie? What else did you give him?" George asked.
"Not that. But we used it last year, and it's not that odd that other teams would copy it." Oliver defended himself.
"And the 'Puffs? Are you going to give Diggory some?" Katie asked.
"I'll have a chat with him, but plays aren't his problem." Oliver said.
"His chasers aren't good enough, he'll need to replace his whole line up to challenge us." Angelina said quietly.
Oliver nodded in agreement.
"Oooooo!"
The crowd winced in sympathy as Burrow was slammed by a bludger.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle. "I've warned you Mr Bole. Have a care where you hit your bludgers, or you'll be off."
—Quidditch—
From the corner of his eye Oliver could see Katie help herself to Harry's recently acquired hotdog, and he smirked. It was nice to see. Harry's confidence had grown leaps and bounds just by the close proximity of his girlfriend. Now they had even started to bicker.
"Oi, that's mine! I asked if you wanted one and you said you weren't hungry," Harry said in a plaintive tone.
"Wasn't then, I am now," Katie replied reasonably.
"That was ten minutes ago!"
Next to Oliver, Alicia giggled silently. Ah, young love
"What's your point?" Katie asked her boyfriend, as she tore off the bottom third of his diminished snack.
"Harry doesn't share food," Harry said, with pain in his voice at the theft.
"When did you change your name to Ron?" she asked.
"Oi!" Ron said through his own mouthful of hotdog on Harry's other side.
Angelina joined in Alicia's laughter. Oliver just shook his head.
"Have some of his hotdog then!" came Harry's childish reply.
"The only one who might get any of his food is Hermione," Katie said with an impish smirk.
"No, she isn't," said Hermione from beyond Ron, looking up from her book. "I like my fingers where they are, thank you very much," she continued primly.
The howl of laughter brought the attention of the Quidditch commentators.
"Well, the Gryffs found that funny. I can understand why Malfoy eating dirt is humorous but that was over the top," Turner commented. "Anyway, the score after an hour and a half of play is Ravenclaw one hundred and thirty to Slytherin fifty. These 'Claws are defending like Lions. And Madam Hooch's warning has pulled the slimy sna-"
"Finish that sentence, Mr Turner, and you too shall soon be flying." Professor Snape interceded.
"Oh, thank you, professor," Turner replied beaming. "But I don't have my broom with me."
"I know you don't," the professor continued silkily. "Nevertheless…"
"…and Slytherin has the quaffle with Flint on a one on one with Page. Score! Page guessed wrong and Flint slots it into the middle hoop!" Turner continued, but his voice was shaken.
Six heads rotated to stare at the Quidditch captain.
"Nobody likes to lose against the Snakes. They're playing well." He said to the air.
"What did you do, Ollie?" Angelina asked.
"I might have mentioned that the 'Claws' had a worse defence than most of the school ghosts apart from Moaning Myrtle. That they should change it up during the game." He replied, still not looking at his chaser. "Look, I have still predicted every play and counter play both teams have made, I know Flint inside and out and Davies has stuck to my suggestions in the order I wrote them down. Relax."
"If we lose to them, Oliver Wood..." Angelina let her sentence hang in the air. The threat was obvious.
He replied with a beatific smile.
She huffed "It doesn't suit you."
"How many plays do I have, Angie?" Oliver asked and turned to face her.
"I dunno, thirty?" she replied.
"Fifty two, variation on variation. We've only run through half that in the last two years. We have ten plays off seeker alone. I gave them five, and you can guarantee Davies thinks he has me worked out. We need them to beat Slytherin or have a very small point margin. Have a little faith, Angie." Oliver reassured her.
—Quidditch—
"Snitch." Harry pointed his free arm toward the Slytherin posts, away from the quaffle action.
"Where?" Three voices demanded while their eyes tried to follow his arm.
"Left hand post, inside a tuft of grass at the base," Harry stated matter of factly.
"Bloody hell, Harry, how did you see that?" George asked awed.
"The wind caught it and I saw the wingtip flutter." Harry smirked.
Oliver could tell he knew how awesome his observation sounded and he was pleased with himself.
Six heads turned to stare at Harry, then back at the posts. Six bodies leaned forward and six pairs of eyes squinted.
"I don't see anything," Alicia muttered.
Seventy metres away and the boy spotted a wing flutter. Holy Merlin!
"I'm glad you're on our side, Harry," Fred said.
—Quidditch—
"Draco Malfoy has caught the snitch! Chang was maliciously impeded by Flint, Bole and one of the bludgers. Combine that with the hit she took half an hour ago that has slowed her down enough to allow Malfoy to win it for Slytherin! Ravenclaw Two hundred and thirty to Slytherin two hundred and fifty! So close!" A defeated Turner ended the game commentary to the background of Spiers hollering himself hoarse.
"How many times did you see it, Harry?" Katie asked her boyfriend.
"Dunno, ten, I think. I thought Cho was better than that. That clatter with Derrick an hour ago must have hurt her. She was off her game after that," Harry replied.
"Quidditch incident, unfortunately," Oliver told him. "Derrick was watching the bludger heading his way and didn't see her. She was the one who flew into him."
"Anyway, Angie," George said as they reached the bottom of the bleacher steps. "Can I have the first dance, my lady?"
"Are we having a party?" she asked in surprise. "I thought McGonagall put her foot down after the fight outside the greenhouses last week?"
"We didn't ask her, did we, Fred?" George said to his brother.
"No, asking her was Harry's job and we didn't bother telling him," Fred assured his twin.
"Me?" Harry asked. "Why me?"
"You're her favourite, everyone knows it, Harry," Alicia told him. "If we want a yes from McG, then you're the one to send." She smirked.
"Really? All those times? I had no idea. You can do it yourself from now on!" Harry replied in an annoyed tone.
"Harry, think of the bigger picture!" Fred slid his arm across his shoulders pushing Katie out of the way.
"Hey!" she exclaimed.
"How often do you get to dance and kiss your girlfriend?" he tried the big-brother-knows-best approach.
"Erm, most days? If you need me to ask, just tell me why, don't try and trick me or I'll tell her who's actually asking," Harry threatened.
"You wouldn't!" George gasped horrified.
"Try me, carrot top."
T.B.C
—
Spell list
"Colovaria!" Colour changing charm.
"Calvorio!" Hair loss curse.
"Cantis!" Uncontrollable Laughing charm.
"Densaugeo!" A hex which caused the front teeth to elongate at an alarming rate.