Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 14
Alhazred - ssjDOTalhazredATgmailDOTcom - alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom
Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling.

Throwing his rucksack over his shoulder, Oliver surveyed his still-sparse living room as if it could possibly contain something he'd forgotten. He knew his Quidditch robes were in his bag, though he'd already put on his uniform pants and boots. He wasn't going to wear the robes out into public, not so much to avoid Muggles - he noticed Muggles wearing ankle-length jackets on occasion - but because he didn't want anyone to realize he was actually the player whose name was embroidered on his back.

"Okay," Looking down, Oliver made sure that his wand was strapped to his calf, and felt satisfied that the sheath wouldn't come loose. "I think that's about everything..."

Her replica robes folded under one arm, Jessica went through her own checklist. It was short, she only needed to make sure her house keys were still attached to a key ring that was attached to her belt. "I guess so...just need to get Conner."

"Let's be off, then," Oliver managed a smile, despite his serious case of nerves. It was, after all, going to be his first game as a Chaser for Puddlemere United, instead of reserve Keeper. Despite practice so often, he suddenly couldn't help but go back to wondering if he could cut the mustard as a Chaser.

Then he reminded himself that the Tutshill Tornados had lost a Beater, a Chaser, their Keeper and their Seeker during the war. Reserves were for swapping out the better players so they didn't get incredibly strained, or for psyching out the opposition by altering the team's playing style after they'd gotten a feel for what the game had started with. Worst case scenario; reserves were for permanently replacing an unexpected, sudden departure from the team.

A team that was put together halfway from what was left of its reserves and drew on sources from who knew where couldn't be terribly organized by now, no matter how hard they'd tried. Oliver wondered what their coach must've thought, after undoubtedly being ecstatic that they'd managed to make the League only to draw the first game. He must've been hoping for at least a little more time to form the patched-together group into more of a cohesive unit.

Once out the door, Oliver closed it and promptly leaned down to pull his wand from the sheath. "Colloportus." Precisely half of one second after the door squelched, he realized that he had, indeed, forgotten something. "Oh, for...good one, Wood. Alohamora."

Dashing back in, Oliver grabbed his broom from where it waited, propped up in the corner near the door. Leaving once more, he closed the door and let Jessica lead him to her flat.

The door wasn't locked, and they wouldn't be staying for long. Immediately, she walked down the hall. "Conner, you ready yet?"

His voice came from the bathroom. "Yeah, just finished!"

Oliver was glad he'd only stood in the doorway instead of walking down with her, because he wasn't sure he could've handled seeing Conner appear suddenly instead of watching him walk out and down the hall, giving him time to slowly assess the situation.

To say Conner was excited would've been a vast understatement. He was wearing the Puddlemere T-shirt Oliver had bought for him, but that wasn't the worst of it. He'd painted his face Navy-blue on one side and white on the other, a "P" written on his right cheek, a "U" on the other.

He even had a streak of blue going through his hair. "This looks alright, then? Really have no idea what I'm doing, just going off what's on the shirt..."

Oliver wondered if Jessica was flabbergasted, after remembering how she'd said the Puddlemere robe would let her outdo him. Despite Oliver's name in the back, it wasn't true. From the sound of her voice, she seemed to take it in stride. "Really, Conner...if anyone sees us before we get there, they're going to think you're mental. Or they'll try to kill you."

"Oh, shut up," he waved her off. "How are we getting there, anyway?"

"Please, not the bus," Jessica shot Oliver a pleading look.

Just as happy to give her the answer as he imagined she would be to hear it, Oliver said, "Merlin, no. We probably couldn't even if we wanted to, it's likely to be over packed with people trying to make it at the last minute...this game's turning out to be bigger than when Britain hosted the World Cup Final in ninety-four. My parents have had their tent up on the grounds for the last two and a half weeks."

He didn't even want to get into whether or not the Knight Bus would even work for them. He had no idea what going through the pitch's Muggle-repelling charms on the bus would do. Better to go straight in.

"Weeks?" Conner blinked. "That just might beat out crazy things Football fans do...um, no one...riots at these things, right? I mean, I just can't imagine being terribly safe in the middle of a sorcerer riot."

Surprised by the question, Oliver said, "Err, no, not usually...especially if the game lasts more than a day, then the crowd wears itself out cheering more than the players do."

"More than a day?" Conner seemed like he'd just woken up on Christmas. "This sport can go longer than a day? How does that work?"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Oliver chuckled. "C'mon, we need to go get our Portkey..."

Locking the door as they left, Conner said, "So why's this such a big to-do, anyway? Didn't you say it's just the first game of the season?"

"It's the first game since the war," Oliver said, remembering, acutely, the day he'd learned that all Quidditch was off in favor of everyone running for their lives. "We haven't had Quidditch in more than a year..."

Conner didn't say anything else on the subject after that. He asked about something that, for Muggles, would've been a very important part of traveling somewhere. "Right, so where's the stadium, anyway?"

"It's a home game," Oliver answered. "So we're playing at the Puddlemere pitch, it's near Puddletown over in Dorset, stone's through from the river Piddle."

"The river...that's like, a three hour drive!" Conner seemed stricken; he'd been planning for a relatively short trip, and thus, wasn't packed well at all for something longer. Fortunately, he had a hard time remembering that Oliver was a wizard. Or, more specifically, he had a hard time remembering that Oliver being a wizard meant that such things didn't always matter.

"We only need to drive to the secondary school," Oliver chuckled. "I pulled a string and got us a Portkey, it'll be left out on their football field by now."

"A port," Conner stopped himself, deciding that, if it didn't make sense now, it would probably make sense soon. He was, after all, going to be there for it. Whatever 'it' was. "Okay...that'll be five minutes..."

Last minute preparations done, Oliver adjusted the strap on his rucksack, watched Conner throw his backpack on, watched Jessica throw her Quidditch robe on, and then watched them lock the door to their flat. True to Conner's word, it took five minutes to park inconspicuously across the street from Heathcoat Secondary School.

Once everyone was out of his car, though, Conner had second thoughts. "Not that there aren't teachers here who'd recognize Jess and me...but considering how we look, walking across might not go over so well."

"S'alright," Oliver said. "I can handle side-along Apparition from this distance. I couldn't take one person across town, but two people over that lawn and into the field? Child's play." Oliver didn't mention that he'd never actually performed Apparition with passengers before. Still, he knew the theory well enough. Pulling his wand, he held it up facing the direction of the school's field. "Homenum Revelio."

Nothing happened. Remembering what Oliver had said about magic not always being flashy and fanciful, Jessica was instantly curious. "What was that?"

"Making sure no one's around," Oliver took one last glance up and down the street, making sure no one was coming in line of sight, out of range of his spell. Even the traffic was sparse. "We'd never be able to go through the school, classes haven't let out yet, but the field's totally empty."

"Too much snow to do anything with it," said Conner. He took his own look around, seeing the dustings of white on everything. There wasn't much, but it was more than enough to relegate gym class to the indoors.

"Works for me," Oliver nodded. "Both of you hold on."

He stretched his arms out enough for them to get the idea; once they were close and holding tightly, he tightened his grip on his wand, closed his eyes, took extra pains to imagine the spot, and made the Disapparation.

Instantly, Oliver lost his footing once they re-appeared in the middle of the field. He ended up dragging Conner down to the snowy ground with him, though Jessica was so startled by the sensation and extremely loud cracking noise the apparation made that she let go beforehand.

"Well," Oliver pulled Conner up, bending down to brush the powdery snow from his legs, "I need to practice my Apparating, obviously. Glad it worked, though. Anyone splinched?" Remembering they wouldn't know what that meant when he looked at their faces, Oliver quickly added, "No? Good...ah, there it is."

In what would've been the obvious center of the football field, had there been no snow to cover the lines, sat a simple, beat-up looking football with its top capped off in snow. They were close enough to see it easily enough, and Jessica walked up to it first. "That's going to take us? It's not...going to fly, is it?"

"Nah." Oliver moved to catch up with her.

He stepped around it and moved to kneel, before remembering that the snow hadn't magically vanished in the last five seconds. He settled for squatting instead, one hand out, waiting for the other two. Once they'd done the same, he said. "Right, ready then? Just grab on..."

Ten seconds passed after the three of them laid a hand on the ball. Ten more passed. Conner wondered if Oliver had gotten his magical items mixed up. "Well?"

"We must be a little early," Oliver felt his stomach being pulled before he could even finish the sentence, and he fell over one more time, onto snow-free grass. The temperature was about the same, but the field they'd landed in was fairly dry. Given their proximity to the river, Oliver wondered if the pitch workers had put up atmospheric charms to make the ground more comfortable for Portkey users and the crazy fans who pitched Muggle tents for an 'authentic' experience.

"Can we pick up my stomach on the way back," Conner moaned, holding his head as he stood up. He'd landed on a rock, albeit a small one. "Why do I keep getting hit in the head..."

"Wasn't that bad," Jessica looked around, "Your stomach was worse off that first time I tried to make custard...wow."

The campground was overwhelming, even for Oliver. To say it was crazier than the World Cup Final was a vast understatement. The space that all the tents were sprawled out in was easily larger than that event, perhaps double. Oliver could barely see the pitch on the far end of the grounds, obscured by so many tents pointing into the air. It was loud and obnoxious like any gathering at any popular sporting event, but there was an extra fervor in the air, an extra sense of enjoyment.

Oliver realized, after looking closely, that the weird effigies many people were parading through the grounds for others to throw food at were caricatures of Voldemort, all of them seemingly hand-made, but with oversized heads and goofy-looking red eyes in common. One had an archaic top-hat with a single buckle in the front over a shoulder-length wig. Oliver didn't get it, but it looked so ridiculous, he couldn't help but smile. "I feel really bad for the guys who've been trying to keep order here for weeks..."

"What happens when someone like us just walks up?" Conner asked.

Oliver was still trying to get his bearings. Wondering if the standard public-place enchantments were enough to screw up Muggle electronics, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "There are enchantments on the grounds that make Muggles think they need to be somewhere else if they get close, that's why we needed to use a Portkey...failing that, the workers will use memory charms on anyone who happens to make it by. Hang on a sec," hitting the speed dial for his parents, he waited for one of them to answer, and hoped it would be drama-free. He was sure he was going to get enough of that later on. "Mum? Yeah, it's me...where's our tent? We just got our Portkey...I have no idea where you are. Near the front? How long have you been...never mind, I'll head up." Hanging up, Oliver turned to his friends. "My parents got the tent up pretty close to the pitch, we'll have to do some walking."

Hefting his broom onto his free shoulder, Oliver tugged at the strap on his rucksack so it would dig in to a different spot for awhile, and led them into the tent forest. He really had no idea where he was going, but he wasn't going to let Conner and Jessica know that.

It didn't really matter much. He was just as thrilled as they were at what was going on around them. The first time Jessica saw a group of people zipping above the tents on their brooms, she could only stare and point. "Look at that!"

"Just think," Conner grew even more excited, "That's how they play the game."

Conner, at one point, found himself tackled by a group of Puddlemere fangirls who had yet to see anyone else go as far as face paint.

"You know," Jessica said, watching Conner eagerly 'let' them get their picture taken with him, "He's been bothering me for ages to go to a football game with him...I bet he doesn't remember what football is after this."

"Could be worse," Oliver hefted his rucksack off of his shoulder, gently setting it down on the grass. "Stay here a sec? I'm gonna get a better view and see where my parents are."

Approaching the line marking the end of the campground, Oliver had utterly failed to see the familiar tent. A brief flight couldn't hurt; he wasn't wearing his full ensemble yet, after all, so the risk of being recognized as a player for Puddlemere and not just another guy looking for his spot or having fun zipping around was pretty slim.

Swinging his broom down, Oliver kicked off the field with practiced ease, climbing a good thirty feet above the tents before he started to take a serious look. The pitch looked splendid in the late afternoon sun, though the air was still sharply cool. It wasn't unbearable, though, and Oliver didn't anticipate much trouble if the weather stayed the same for one more day. From the air, it was easy to spot his parents' tent. They'd shown a patchwork of colors over the outside to show their support for Puddlemere, but it clashed horribly with the green underneath. "There we are..."

Dropping down and hopping off his broom, Oliver picked his rucksack back up. "Found 'em. This way," he had to raise his voice to be heard over the gaggle, "'Ey, Conner! Les'go!"

Once Conner ran back to them, Jessica gave him a smack on the shoulder. "You totally missed all of that. You should've seen him just take off like...like brooms are meant for flying, or something."

"Like we're not going to see the game," Conner rolled his eyes.

They went back and forth like this all the way to the tent, barely noticing the tiny, tiny size as it appeared on the outside, until they had the inside to compare it to. Deciding that he might as well get it over with, Oliver called out before he'd even made it inside. "Mum, Dad? You in here?"

Conner had to poke his head back outside to make sure he wasn't losing his mind. "That must be handy..."

The entrance didn't go unnoticed by Oliver's parents for long. His mother had been at the stove when they walked in, and, upon seeing him, practically tackled him to the ground. "Oliver!"

"Mum, ow," Oliver tried to fight her off, but it was absolutely useless. His mother had a grip like a vise, and she was dead-set on planting kisses on his cheeks whether he liked it or not. "Mum, geez! I'm glad to see you, too!"

"Well, you could certainly stand to write more!" She huffed. "Oh, these must be your Muggle friends! Come in, come in!"

Oliver's father was reading the Daily Prophet at the table, and in typical fashion, he finished the article he was reading before he bothered to put it down. "For crying out loud, Oakley, let the poor kids breath for a minute."

As much as Oliver's mother was stereotypically affectionate, Elric Wood was a stereotypical gentleman. He shook Conner and Jessica's hands instead of doting on them, and waited until they were out of earshot before he threw an arm over his son's shoulders for an aside. As he spoke, he cocked his head towards Jessica. "I bet you can't beat the girls away with a stick now, eh, Ollie?"

The little grin on his father's face terrified Oliver to no end. It terrified him even more when he realized which edition of the Prophet his father was holding. He really, really didn't want his father thinking that he was hitting on ghosts. On the other hand, he really, really didn't want to have the conversation, either. "Dad..."

Oakley had already gotten to Jessica and Conner, though, so Oliver didn't need to worry about them overhearing. Before he even turned around, his mother's voice carried over, and Oliver could tell she was starting to spin wild tales of her Quidditch days with the Wimbourne Wasps. Jessica wasted no time falling in to help her cook dinner.

Oliver was secretly glad for that; he hated cooking, and he suspected this was the sole reason his mother always made him help in the kitchen when he was home from school. High up on his list of things he enjoyed about being an adult was the ability to own a Muggle microwave and, failing that, the ability to go out for food.

Conner eventually tore himself away from the grand stories of Quidditch past to go back outside and mingle - probably with the girls from earlier, Oliver suspected - while he waited for dinner. Oliver and his father soon followed, watching the scenes of the campgrounds from in front of their tent. Despite being the parent who wasn't at all into the sports thing, Elric still had no trouble making conversation with his son. "So how's the Muggle town? Your mother said you can drive one of those car things?"

"Yep," Oliver was still proud of that, having passed the test without cheating, and everything. He fished out his wallet and proudly displayed his license. "It's got these neat little effects so Muggles can't fake one...that's a hologram right there..."

"Fancy that," his father chuckled. He went through his pockets, coming out with his cell phone. "Maybe you can show me how to use this bloody thing, too...your mother has a Muggle friend in town she keeps trying to call..."

A little down the aisle between tents, Conner had joined the cheering group carrying one of the Voldemort effigies, the one with the hat and wig. As a Muggle, he was a little surprised when several wizards his own age pulled wands and gleefully hit the Dark Lord with Incendio charms that set him on fire in an instant.

Oliver laughed; tomorrow was the big game, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend the last few hours before hitting the sack than watching his friends run about and helping his father with a phone.