Apologies for the long update period!
Summer ends and third year begins, though not much feels different to Oliver Wood as he sits in the same compartment as he does for every trip on the Hogwarts Express, albeit with a few extra people in it. Alongside Percy, Patrick, Paul, Fiona, Melissa and a couple of other third year Gryffindors, there's also Percy's younger brothers, Fred and George.
Oliver remembers them from his visits to the Burrow the last two summers; they seem to be more like troublemakers than Percy, and they're also pretty decent at Quidditch. If it wasn't for the fact that they seem to prefer playing in the Beater positions, Oliver would be jealous of their arrival – and a little fearful for his position on the team.
They ended the last year positively, just managing to get enough points to win the trophy, and he's talked about it so much since that all of his friends and family have banned him from mentioning pretty much anything that happened in June. He's written down his memories of that day extensively though; he's going to need the raw emotion of thirteen year old Oliver when he comes to write his autobiography later in life, isn't he?
"Oliver, are you feeling okay?" He just about hears Fiona Jones saying to him, and opens his eyes to see that she's waving fingers in front of his face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"…Five?" Oliver responds, confused. He just shut his eyes for a couple of minutes, he wasn't aware of there being any need for him to stay focused on the conversation between his friends. Between his sister's nightmares and his excitement for returning to Hogwarts, he didn't sleep very well last night.
Fiona sits back, smiling. "See, I told you that he was alright, Percy. You should stop worrying so much."
Oliver's attention changes to Percy, who's looking studiously out of the window.
"Now we have your attention, Wood, are you going to weigh in on our conversation?" Paul asks, looking more than a little exasperated. "Gwenog Jones or Helen Leary – who's more likely to get the Player of the Year trophy next week?"
Unsurprisingly, Oliver spends the next fifteen minutes analysing each player's chances, and ninety percent of the people in the compartment regret jolting him from his reverie to join in the conversation.
.x.
"Welcome to third year, Gryffindor students," Professor McGonagall announces at the start of the first Transfiguration lesson of the year – which also happens to be Oliver's first lesson of third year. "This year, you have a slightly more diverse timetable, with the introduction of your optional specialisms. However, this does not reduce the focus that we place on the core subjects of Transfiguration, Charms, Potions and Herbology. Professor Dumbledore, myself, and all the other teachers expect you to put as much effort into these subjects as the ones that you have chosen to study."
"Are you coming down to the try-outs next week?" Oliver whispers to Fiona, sitting to his left. "MacGinty was a seventh year, so there's a Chaser position that needs filling."
"Oliver, be careful," Percy whispers from his other side, though Oliver ignores him. They're sat at the back of the classroom, McGonagall's unlikely to hear them all the way back here.
"Not sure," Fiona replies, obscuring her mouth with her hand. "Haven't practiced most of summer. Mum took my broom off me."
"Why?" Oliver replies, looking away from McGonagall to Fiona. "And I'm sure you'd be great anyway."
"Oliver," Percy mutters, a little louder and a little more urgently.
"Dunno," Fiona responds, a little more quietly than before. "Are you going to tryouts?"
"Yeah, Charlie wants us all there to see how they gel with us," Oliver says. As he speaks, he gets the feeling that he's being watched, but he shakes it off. "I'd want you on my team anyway."
Fiona doesn't reply, so Oliver turns back to face the front of the classroom– and realises that McGonagall isn't standing fifteen metres away.
She's standing right in front of him.
"Oh, Wood, please don't let me interrupt your conversation," she says to him, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I'd love to hear more about Quidditch – and I'm sure the rest of the class would, too."
Oliver frowns. "How did you hear what I was talking about?" He asks, unwisely choosing to press the issue.
McGonagall's lips press themselves into a thin line as she shakes her head. "Wood, it's hardly an effort to decipher what your conversation is about," she comments, now looking at Percy. "You would do well to listen to Weasley; he at least knows when to shut up."
Percy blushes, but Oliver still doesn't take the cue to be quiet.
"So you don't know what I was talking about?" He asks.
Both of his friends – and probably most of the class – groans, though there's at least a few laughs. It's common knowledge among the Gryffindor third years that you don't ask Wood a question related to Quidditch.
"Detention, Wood," McGonagall snaps, losing any hint of amusement from her voice. "Now, say another word and I'll ensure that you're banned from any form of Quidditch tryout for the rest of the year. Do you understand?"
Finally, Oliver figures out that he probably should keep his mouth shut, and nods his understanding.
After fixing him with a death stare that would probably have caused a first year to faint, McGonagall sweeps around and heads back towards the front of the classroom.
"Well done," Percy mutters, irritation evident in his voice. "Detention on the first day back."
Oliver really hopes that the rest of the year isn't like this.
.x.
Three weeks into term, the team is sorted – Fiona didn't get on, much to Oliver's dismay – and practice is as enjoyable as last year, if not more so. He's bonded well with the new addition - Alicia Spinnet, a girl in the year below him – and he thinks he remembers handing her a flyer about his opposition to the first year ban last year.
He's got a lot more homework than last year though, and that makes it a little more difficult to participate in the "free-flying" sessions that he helped to arrange with Dumbledore last year. True to his word, the headmaster publicised the sessions in the welcome assembly announcements: up until November, any student with a broom can fly between 10am and 2pm on Saturdays and Sundays.
The Wooden Cup, an event Oliver and his friends created in their first year, continues, though Oliver's only able to make it to one game a week. Whilst he'd like to participate more, McGonagall made it perfectly clear to him during his detention with her that, should his grades slip, she would remove him from the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
So, for what's probably the first time in his life, Oliver shows some restraint towards flying.
He's a little surprised when, on one Saturday afternoon in late September, the Weasley twins approach him. Though they're first years, he's pretty sure that they're almost as tall as he is – though his dad insists that he'll experience a growth spurt at some point this year, he's struggling to believe him – and yet they're surprisingly stealthy. One minute they're not there, the next they are.
"Oliver, Oliver, Oliver," one of them – Fred, maybe? – says, taking a seat to Oliver's right-hand side.
"We've been looking everywhere for you," the other – George – adds, taking a seat to Oliver's left.
"First we tried the Quidditch field, but your friends said that you weren't there."
"So then we tried the free flying area. No sign of you."
"Then we got worried that you'd had some sort of accident and were in the Hospital Wing. But no."
"Imagine our surprise to come up here on a gorgeous flying day, to find you sitting here. With books."
The twins roll off of one another more cohesively than anyone Oliver's ever known before, and his head's spinning by the time they stop talking.
"Yeah, well, McGonagall'll kick me off the team if I don't keep my grades up," Oliver replies glumly, closing the book in his hand. "So I figured I should do some work now before Quidditch season really kicks in."
The twins look at each other with glee, and Oliver gets a feeling that this was exactly what they wanted to hear.
"So, Oliver, we've got a proposition for you," the one Oliver thinks is Fred says, a twinkle in his eye.
"You know we like to fly, right?" George asks.
"Yes…?" Oliver replies, remembering both of his summers at the Burrow. The twins had been real assets on his team in the family competitions, and he was certain that they'd end up on the Gryffindor team at some point in the near future.
"Well, there's a few weeks left of free flying before Dumbledore decides that it's too dangerous to fly," Fred says.
"But we're first years – we're not allowed brooms, even if Madam Hooch would sign us off as competent flyers," George continues, his voice bitter. "Apparently, just being a Weasley doesn't make us a good flier, apparently."
Oliver thinks of Percy's crippling fear whenever he's forced to fly, and smiles slightly.
"We'd like to make you a deal, Oliver."
"A really good deal."
"One that you'd absolutely love to make."
Oliver smiles. "What's the deal?"
"You loan us your broom on a Saturday – unless you end up having practice, though I'm sure we can tell Charlie to do it on a different day – and we cover a couple of detentions for you some time."
It's tempting, Oliver has to admit, but there's just one tiny problem.
"But…you've got red hair and…I don't."
Fred laughs, and George puts his arm around Oliver's shoulders. It's clear to Oliver that the twins are going to go far in their lives, if only as shady deal-makers.
"Leave that to us, Mr Wood," George responds, laughing a little. "Just shake our hands and it's a done deal, we'll get the details sorted out another time, when we're not in a room which has eyes and ears."
Oliver smiles, and doesn't hesitate in reaching over to shake Fred and George's hands. "If you do any damage to my broom, you're buying me a new one. A top of the range one."
They nod, but Oliver regrets adding the last caveat. He knows, somewhere deep inside, about the Weasleys' money problems.
"Or, you know, just a similar one," he adds meekly, but the twins don't even notice.
"Never fear, Oliver, we're better fliers than even you."
"And definitely better than Charlie. We're probably good enough to play for England now, if our mum'd let us."
"Good doing business with you, Oliver. We'll be in touch."
And with that, the twins are up and out of Oliver's line of sight within seconds.
(Little does he know that this deal is the start of the end of his friendship with Percy Weasley.)