Apologies for the delay - I've managed to get myself back into writing historical articles again, which means less time for Oliver unfortunately!

Second year rolls around, and with it comes a new and improved Oliver Wood – at least in terms of his Quidditch abilities.

For most of the summer holidays, he's been reading up on Quidditch techniques, keen to master new moves to prove to Charlie Weasley that he deserves to be on the team. He's used every Knut of his pocket money to buy tickets to see his favourite team, the Montrose Magpies, fifteen times over the holidays, something which led to his mother suggesting (unfortunately sarcastically) that he may as well buy a seat in the stadium.

Another highlight for Oliver has been seeing his friends. Patrick Sullivan, fellow Gryffindor second year, only lives about an hour away, so they've met up a few times. Of course, he's spent a lot of time with Edward Bones, his childhood best friend – with most of it spent on a broom, as usual – and it's been fun for Oliver to have two friends from different circles spend time together. He doubts that they'll stay particularly close when back at Hogwarts, but Patrick and Edward are fast on the way to becoming friends when they depart Oliver's home in mid-July.

The beginning of August brings Oliver's invitation to the legendary Burrow.

He spends a week surrounded by more red haired wizards than he's previously ever seen – including a pair of ten-year-old twins who will certainly wreak havoc when they arrive at Hogwarts. It's a week of laughter, fun – and, above all, Quidditch.

The first time that he sets up in position as Keeper, paired with the legendary Charlie Weasley, it takes more than a few seconds to really process it. He is playing with a legend – with the Charlie Weasley – and it's something which he's going to have to get used to.

The summer is summer though, so he thinks that it's alright to still be a little dumbstruck in the presence of the greatest Quidditch player currently at Hogwarts, even if this amuses his brothers.

Before he knows it, he's at Kings Cross, ready to board the Hogwarts Express to head to his second year at Hogwarts.

"Have a wonderful time," his mother whispers into his hair. "And don't spend all of your time thinking about Quidditch!"

"Maybe just ninety five percent," his father jokes, pulling Oliver in for a hug of his own. "Don't forget to think seriously about choosing Arithmancy for next year." His father is big in the statistical department of the Ministry of Magic, and is keen for Oliver to join him.

The final person Oliver says goodbye to is his sister.

"Miss you already," Freya says, reaching up for his shoulders. He's only four years older than her, but there's a good two feet difference between their heights. "Send me lots of letters!"

"I will," Oliver promises, as serious as ever. If there's one person he'll never break a promise to, it's Freya. "Make sure you work hard in numeracy."

Then the whistle sounds, and it's time to say the final, final goodbyes for the year, and to relocate the compartment that the Gryffindor boys claimed at 10:25am. Well, Percy claimed it for them, saying that this particular cabin has 'special meaning' to the Weasley clan, and it's his turn to claim it, given that Bill's busy with Head Boy duties, and Charlie's not particularly bothered.

"I hope that my broom's safe," Oliver mutters as he enters the compartment, taking a seat next to Tom Johnson. "The person who took my trunk just threw it onto the pile."

Percy chuckles, a noise which Oliver has only heard old men and Percy make. It suits him. "I bet they'll see that it's your broom, then take extra special care with it, just to avoid you shouting at them all year."

"Yeah, didn't you like annoy McGonagall about the first year broom ban so much that she banned you from Transfiguration lessons for the last week of term?" Patrick responds, a glint in his eye.

A voice interrupts them from the corridor. "I'm sure I heard her threaten to burn your broom to ashes if you even think of mentioning the first year ban this term, Wood," says Fiona Jones, a fellow Gryffindor second year. "Hey guys, how's it going?"

Oliver shakes his head. "It's not fair, like I looked into the statistics and twenty two percent of new Quidditch players join in either their first or second year! If we only let first years ride in flying lessons, then who's going to actually be good enough to join the team the year after?"

Most of his friends groan. Whilst also Quidditch fans, they're nowhere near his level of dedication; when he starts mentioning statistics is usually when the rest of them zone out.

"Wood, I'm going to bet you a Galleon that you can't go the rest of the journey without mentioning Quidditch," Patrick says, reaching into his pocket to get a coin out.

"Pfff!" Percy snorts. "I don't think he said more than three words on a topic other than Qudiditch over the holidays."

Oliver pipes up. "Deal," he replies to Patrick, looking his friend directly in the eye. "I can definitely talk about other things."

It turns out, for the next forty five minutes, that he can talk about something other than Quidditch. He has to stop himself bringing in his favourite sport to the conversation a few times (fourteen times, to be precise), and it's obvious to start with that his friends are trying to goad him into talking about it, but he succeeds.

Or, rather, he succeeds until Charlie Weasley rocks up.

"Hey lads," the older, taller boy says as he enters the train compartment. "Perce, you took my sandwiches by accident. Can I have them?"

After a brief conversation where Percy insists he didn't take the wrong sandwiches – "if you're really so fussy about tuna, Charlie, you should have picked up your own sandwiches rather than trusting Fred to get them for you!" – Charlie makes to leave the second years until he spots Oliver.

"Wood, how's it going?" Charlie asks, his tone genuinely friendly. Over the course of the week at the Burrow, he had spoken to Oliver multiple times, and Oliver no longer felt gripping fear about joining the (much older) Gryffindor Quidditch team. He mimes throwing a Quaffle at Oliver, his movement extremely fast.

"Not bad thanks, you?" Oliver responds, acting out a block of the Quaffle.

"Yeah good thanks, just catching up some of the team on what you're like as a Keeper. Told them about that Sloth-Grip Roll you did over at ours, they couldn't believe that you'd managed it when you were blocking penalties. Did you get chance to read that article in Quidditch Weekly about Adrian Lynch using that new flip in the Ireland-USA game last week?"

Oliver blushes a little at the thought of the older students talking about him, but he's also a little thrilled; at least it shows he's worthy of being on the team, not just because he's the Captain's brother's friend.

"Yeah it was really good! It's going to be hard to block if the Slytherin Chasers get wind of it – is it right that all of last year's Chasers are staying on their team?" Oliver knows the answer, but figures it's probably more socially acceptable to at least pretend that he hasn't created full factfiles on the other teams.

Charlie grins. "Shouldn't be surprised you've read it – you probably know more about it than Lynch does! But if anyone can block it, I'm sure you can," Charlie notes proudly. "We've got the strongest team in about five years this year…but anyway, best be off, see you later, kiddos."

Within a few seconds, the older boy has left. As soon as he does so, Patrick, Colin and Fiona look at Oliver, their expressions triumphant.

"Told ya," Fiona sings. "Now cough up."

Oliver looks at Percy. "Percy, tell them that it's not my fault, I had to talk Quidditch with Charlie!"

Percy shakes his head. "Rules are rules and bets are bets," Percy responds seriously. "Don't enter into a contractual agreement unless you – hey, why are you laughing?"

The argument only ends when Bill Weasley pokes his head through the door. "Oi, I can hear you down in the next carriage, what do you guys think you're playing at? Wait…Percy?" Head Boy Bill's tone goes from irritated to almost amused at the sight of his younger brother. "Never mind. Just keep it quiet, and whoever lost the bet, cough up. Unless Perce is the winner, obviously."

That soon shuts everyone up.

…

It takes until the weekend of the second week at Hogwarts for Oliver's early morning Quidditch practice to cause strife in the dorm.

"WOOD, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Percy's voice is angry as he shouts across the room at an Oliver who is on his way out of the door.

He turns back to see a red-haired boy with askew glasses emerge from his bed.

"What?" Oliver asks, innocently. He speaks quietly; he's on his way down to the Quidditch pitch to get a few laps in before the rest of the team join. It's only been two weeks, so it makes sense that he isn't fully comfortable within the team yet, but he still enjoys flying alone.

"It's five o'clock in the morning, Oliver, so why are you clattering around and singing non-stop?" As Percy continues his tirade, one of the other boys emerges from his bed, also.

"Yeah, Wood, just go back to bed," Patrick says, yawning through the second part of the sentence. "Perce, shut it as well will you?"

"Sorry," Oliver mutters as he turns back to the door to exit the dorm. "I'll see you guys later."

He's not entirely certain, but Oliver thinks he hears Percy mutter "bloody Quidditch players" under his breath as he gets back into bed.

.

It takes until week three, in the aftermath of a particular muddy Quidditch practice, for Percy to explode at Oliver during daylight hours.

As Oliver arrives back into the dorm after a particularly muddy Quidditch session – Charlie thought it wise for the team to have a go at Quidditch on foot in order to build team spirit – he's elated. He's thoroughly enjoyed his practice, and, for the first time, he felt included on the group's walk back to Gryffindor Tower. It doesn't quite feel like the team he had during the Wooden Cup in the Easter holidays, but he's sure that he'll forge some more bonds soon.

This elation, however, is soon paused when Percy looks up.

"How was practice?" Percy's tone begins cordially until he both takes in Oliver's general appearance, and the path of mud which marks out his path into the dorm. "Why are you covered in mud, Wood? This is about the tenth time since we came back that you've just left a trail of dirt in from outside – what sort of example is that for the first years?"

Oliver absently notes that the only time Percy calls him 'Wood' is when he's angry. "Don't think there are any first years in here, Perce," he responds, trying to speak jovially in order to lighten the mood.

It doesn't work.

"THAT ISN'T THE POINT!" Percy bellows, the loudest that Oliver has ever heard him shout. "The point is that you've ignored what we've asked you to do – to not make the dorm really dirty! You're just a fiend – a usurper!"

At this, the rest of the boys poke their heads out of the curtains surrounding their beds, Patrick and Tom in particular looking as though they've just woken up.

"But I'm not…that dirty?" Oliver tries to respond hopefully, running a hand through his hair as he speaks. He realises this was a mistake, however, when all this does is cause droplets of dirty water to fly through the air.

Percy shoots him a death stare.

"I rest my case, usurper."

Oliver isn't sure what usurper means, but with the mood Percy's in (rightly so, he has to admit to himself), he figures it isn't the best time to ask him.

"I'll go get a shower," Oliver says, admitting defeat. "I'm sorry to have made the place dirty, I didn't mean to."

Nobody replies.

.

A freshly washed and dried Oliver returns to the dorm almost forty minutes later to find only one bed occupied still: Percy's.

"I know you're right and I've been really selfish and I'm sorry," Oliver begins as soon as he notices Percy, not wanting him to start shouting again. "I just got really excited about getting to play Quidditch and then I was talking to the team and it felt like we were teammates properly, which was really cool! So I wanted to come tell you all before I got a shower – and I didn't think about the mud. I'm sorry if I got mud on any of your stuff."

Percy looks up, giving Oliver the look that he thinks means that his friend has forgiven him but he isn't going to show it yet. It's a look that Oliver's increasingly exposed to.

"Well…I suppose that's okay," Percy replies, his tone grudging. "Just don't do it again, please. Do you want to come for breakfast?"

Oliver knows that he's not fully forgiven yet, but he's keen to build bridges with his friend, so eagerly accepts Percy's offer. He's pleased that, even though he made a mistake, it hasn't harmed his friendship with Percy.

…

"Oliver, would you pass the pumpkin juice?" Percy says to his friend, though Oliver doesn't hear him.

So he repeats it. And then repeats it again.

"Ow!" Oliver half-shouts, gaining the attention of half of the table, as Percy pinches his arm. "What was that for?"

"You wouldn't respond to anything so I figured that that'd get your attention," Percy replies, his tone matter of fact. "Are you doing okay? And can I have the pumpkin juice?"

Oliver nods slowly, breathing in and out as deeply as possible. It's the morning of his first Quidditch game as Keeper, and he's suddenly wondering whether he should be doing this. He's only twelve, for Merlin's sake; how can he expect to play well against Slytherin Chasers who are practically adults? He can't remember the last time that he was nervous to play Quidditch, but right now, he'd give anything to have fifty-five years of experience of Keeping before he has to play in this game.

He's vaguely aware of Percy saying something else, but he shakes his head, hoping that this is the right response.

It isn't.

Only when Oliver hears the voice of his Captain does he turn round properly.

"Hey, Wood," Charlie says, his voice relatively gentle. "Grab yourself a slice of toast – or just take Percy's, it's easier – and come with me." He doesn't leave room for Oliver to say no, just waits patiently for the few seconds it takes for Oliver to get his legs to cooperate enough to get out of the bench.

Only when they're outside of the Hall, therefore away from prying eyes and ears, does Charlie begin to talk. "Nervous, huh?"

"Just a bit," Oliver mutters, looking down at his bacon sandwich-toast concoction that Percy had passed him.

"That's normal," Charlie says, putting his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I could tell you stories about the rest of the team's first games – think I've seen half of the lads throw up and cry, and at least two girls grip their brooms so hard that they've broken. But I'll tell you about my first game – at Hogwarts, at least."

Oliver nods again, averting his gaze from the mirrors in front of him. He doesn't want to see whether he's as green as he feels.

They turn into the corridor heading down to the grounds, the air crisp and refreshing.

"So, back when I was young and innocent, I managed to get a place on the team," Charlie begins. "And I almost threw up about fourteen times in the hours before the match. I didn't sleep, I just imagined what could go wrong. My captain did exactly this – she took me down to the grounds to try and calm me down. It worked, until I got in the air for the pre-match fly-around." Charlie smiles.

"What happened?" Oliver asks, his curiosity piqued.

"I'd left my wand in my back pocket and, as I swung around, it somehow managed to fire a spell of some sort at the staff stand," Charlie replies, just about stifling a laugh. "It took them four hours to calm the crowd down enough for the game to go ahead – though McGonagall herself made sure that my wand was safely locked in the Gryffindor dorms. Thought I was going to get kicked off the team for sure, but apparently I wasn't the first newbie to make the wand in back pocket mistake. I just didn't lose my buttock doing so."

Oliver smiles slightly. He doesn't exactly feel reassured – as far as motivating speeches go, this probably wouldn't win any prizes – but at least it's normal for him to feel nervous. And, hopefully, he won't set the stands on fire or knock over any rings, or do anything ridiculous like that.

Fingers crossed, anyway.

.

There are no words for the feeling of flying in front of so many people, at least none that come to Oliver mid-flight. They're only midway through the warm up fly-around, a move done to help new players adjust to playing Quidditch in front of an audience, and yet Oliver feels like he's on top of the world.

Then the whistle sounds to signal the start of the game, Charlie shaking hands with Parkinson, the Slytherin Captain, and the balls are released.

It takes no effort at all to follow the Quaffle with his eyes, to assess whether it's likely that the Slytherin Chasers will get the ball up the field before he can move to the other post. He's circling, just as Charlie taught him to, and it's all going so well!

That is, of course, until the Bludger appears out of nowhere and hits him in the side of the head, sending him plummeting to the ground.

…

Oliver wakes up with a start, confused. He's playing Quidditch, he's facing the crowed and cheering – he's just helped Gryffindor win the game!

Then he opens his eyes properly and sees the Hospital Wing, and a familiar figure sat to the side of the bed. Percy.

"You're awake!" Percy cries, before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. Too loud – Madam Pomfrey will have heard. "Thank Merlin you're alright – it's been a week!"

"A week?" Oliver gasps, his throat dry. He's been out cold for a week! "What happened in the game?" Now he thinks about it, it's just a blacked out blur of a bit of flying and a bit of falling – and a bit of cheering, for good measure.

"You were great!" Percy immediately says, though his voice is full of the false cheeriness that Oliver has come to associate with lies.

"Really?" Oliver asks. He wants water, but he wants to know about the game he can't remember first.

Percy's face drops a little, but he nods. "Yeah. You were great! I mean…well…you got hit in the side of the head by a bludger two minutes in, but before that, you were doing great. Didn't let a goal in or anything!"

Hit in the head by a bludger two minutes in. Well, it couldn't get any worse, could it? Not only did he fail to actually do any Keeping, his injury's probably meant that Gryffindor have suffered the worst defeat since Charlie Weasley took over. Maybe even since the days of James Potter, a Captain who may have only suffered two defeats throughout his time on the team but suffered a loss of almost one thousand points.

"He's awake – you should have said!" Madam Pomfrey's voice startles Oliver, causing him to jolt his head. And moving it hurts – a lot. "Out, out! You can come back when he's better!" She motions at Percy, shaking her head and tutting.

Oliver vaguely notices that Percy says something about Quidditch and the team and coming back later, but he doesn't respond; he doesn't think that anything could make him feel better after this.