Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 15
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Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling.

"Conner, hurry up!"

"I'm hurrying," Conner yelled back, leaning in closer to the mirror as if it would speed up the process. Putting on the face paint had been easy. Tuning it up after he'd rolled his face over in his pillow during the night was much more difficult. "There, that should do it."

Conner felt a little singled out; Jessica never said a word when Oakley Wood had 'borrowed' what he had left to paint her own face. He imagined that Jessica would say Oliver's mother had more taste, opting for simple lines of color on her cheeks instead of the full treatment.

Oakley had, in fact, taken charge of the group. Her husband was comfortable being along for the ride, and as such, she was quick to usher everyone out of the tent. "Everyone all set? Everyone's got your omnioculars? Great, let's find our seats!"

Throwing her Puddlemere robe on, Jessica followed her out, intent on not getting lost. She didn't think there was an emergency PA system anywhere, after all. The walk to the pitch was as energetic as it was chaotic, with people filing out of the camp grounds to the various entrances in thick, meandering lines.

Now that the sun was down, the Puddlemere United Quidditch pitch seemed ethereal. The scores of witches and wizards heading to it was comparable to a wave of army ants seen from above. Many of them had light coming out of their wands. Occasionally, Jessica would turn to look in the direction of a loud banging sound to see that someone had sent up fireworks.

The pitch itself wasn't like she was expecting; Muggle stadiums had a pretty specific look to them, but the Quidditch pitch was entirely vertical in its seating arrangement. It caught Conner off-guard even more, but he saw the sense in it. "Better to see guys flying on brooms from higher up, right?"

Their seats weren't shabby; three-quarters of the way up, at a nice angle to see anything going on below the center.

The game area looked simpler than Jessica had expected, too. There was nothing in the air, as she had expected a game involving flying broomsticks to have, even though she'd had a rundown of the rules. The ground was swampy, with tall, wet grass and puddles of water everywhere, no doubt a result of the pitch sitting so close to the river. "I'm still trying to make sense of the rules, let alone the architecture..."

"Well, it's simple, isn't it," Conner's eyes twinkled; he was clearly proud of being able to pass himself off as a long-time fan. "Each team has three guys trying to throw a ball through one of those hoops over there," he pointed to the goal posts bearing the Puddlemere banner, "Two guys with bats going against the balls that float around hitting things, and one guy flying around trying to find the really little ball, and the game ends if he catches it."

Unable to resist giving input, Oakley Wood took on a reassuring tone. "Oh, don't you worry dear, it'll make a lot more sense once the game gets going. And not all Beaters are men!"

Conner shrunk away at that.

Not long after, a booming voice echoed off the stands, as if it came from above and rebounded across the inside line of the pitch. Despite the volume necessary to reach everyone and also sound above the chaotic noise of such a large number of gathered, excited fans, the voice was nevertheless calm. "On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I welcome, with great joy, each and every one of you to the first game of our annual Quidditch League!"

Finally having something to say that his wife couldn't outsmart him at, Oliver's father pointed down to a large box in the middle of the stands, about forty-five degrees to the left. "That's Kingsley Shacklebolt, he's what you'd call the Prime Minister. Interim, at least, but he'd be a shoe-in to run for election..."

Finding Minister Shacklebolt in the Omnioculars was a perfect way to practice with them. Jessica had it before Conner, and she nudged his into the right direction. "Little more to the right."

"Ah hah," Conner mumbled.

Kinglsey, they could see, was a tall black man, wearing fine robes. Even through Omnioculars, the hoop-shaped earring he wore was hard to miss. He was not speaking into a microphone, but rather, he was holding his wand with the tip to the side of his neck, and he continued talking. "Before the game begins, I would like to ask of you, a moment of silence for those who have been lost in the past year. They are the reason we stand here now, ready to enjoy our favorite sport. They are the reason our society remains free. Our friends and loved ones died so the Dark Lord would have no dominion over us, and as we celebrate having back what we once took for granted, we owe them remembrance."

Through their Omnioculars, Jessica and Conner watched as Kinglsey lowered his wand, folding his other hand over the one holding it, keeping it close. The dead silence that came over the pitch instantly inspired Conner to pull his eyes away from the lens and look around as much as he could; he couldn't believe how readily everyone complied.

Thinking back to what Oliver had mentioned about a war as the goal bell sounded three times in slow succession, Jessica thought of, not for the first time, how truly terrible it must've been. For moments like these, for the fact that Oliver would deliberately avoid talking about it, she couldn't help but wonder about the Dark Lord everyone always mentioned in passing.

When the moment passed, Kingsley, again, put his wand to his neck. "Thank you all. As interim Minister, it gives me immense pleasure to say...let the games begin!"

When Kingsley threw a point of light from his wand to the center of the pitch, the game itself didn't begin, but it was close enough. The white light exploded into a massive, if short-lived display of fireworks, music began to pump through the stands, and a good portion of the crowd cheered as hard as they could while the Tutshill Tornados flew up from the gate.

Jessica couldn't help but laugh at Conner, and Oliver's parents; they were actively booing loudly. Conner's anticipation of watching a sport played in flight began to pay off, and he was truly ecstatic. The commentators beginning their play-by-play only added to it all.

"Ladies and Gentleman, Witches and Wizards of all ages, your friendly commentators Martin Zachary and my esteemed colleague Ryan Andrews here! Please welcome to the pitch, the Tutshill Tornados!"

"Thank you, Martin. Tremendous support for the Tornados here tonight, unusual for a home game..."

The Tornados flew into the pitch in a tornado shape, or as much of a tornado shape as seven could manage. Getting a closer look with her Omnioculars, Jessica realized they were all doing tricks on their brooms as they flew in formation. The caption on her lens changed when she focused on a player, labeling him as '#24 - Marcus Flint - Seeker.'

The Tornados' Seeker looked to be Oliver's age, built large and not very agile, but, as Jessica glanced at the other players, it became obvious that he was the smallest of them all. Their acrobatics were heavily reliant on precision broom control, not jumping off and landing back on them.

Soon enough, they took their starting positions.

While the crowd had been loud when the Tornados made their entrance, it was the sound of the apocalypse when Puddlemere United flew onto the pitch. Oliver's parents were certainly one small part of the reason. Jessica and Conner weren't exactly quiet themselves, and it didn't take them long to focus their Omnioculars. Jessica's went from '#13 - Richard Upton - Chaser' to '#101 - Alex Anderson - Beater' before settling on '#667 - Oliver Wood - Chaser.'

Oliver had been doing a legs-free stunt on his broom and was in the process of regaining practical balance. Their formation was looser than the Tornados' had been, and all at once, the three Chasers broke off and flew the perimeter of the pitch, weaving wildly up and down instead of flatly flying in two dimensions.

A second after that started, Jessica watched through the lens as Oliver pulled his wand from its sheath and poked the side of his neck with it.

"Sonorus," Oliver said, under his breath. Immediately, he felt foolish for whispering the spell; given the environment, no one would possibly hear him until his voice was magnified. One hand still tight on the broom, Oliver pulled an abrupt turn back to the center of the pitch. The three Chasers all crossed paths and kept going, buzzing the Tornados as if they weren't even there.

He, Dollie and Upton shouted at the exact same time, the synchronization and their spells working in tandem to let every single person in the stands hear the Puddlemere battle cry as their lungs gave everything they had. "Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!"

Upton was Irish, and that plus Oliver's own accent made it sound odd, but it was a good kind of odd. It was different and attention-grabbing, and he could swear the crowd had managed to grow even louder.

It was the corniest anthem ever, and Oliver loved it dearly. He was on top of the world when he put his wand away and floated calmly over to his starting position. This was it; this was the big game. The first game since the war had ended, the most watched game anyone could remember, and the first game Oliver Wood would be playing as a Chaser, not 'just' a reserve Keeper, for Puddlemere United.

"Oi, Wood!"

Immediately, Oliver snapped his head around to look towards the source of his name. It was obviously one of the Tornados, and when Oliver saw which one, his grip on his broom went slack.

In fact, he almost fell off at the sight of the Tornado's Seeker. "Flint?"

Closing his eyes for a second and looking again, rubbing them out just in case he was hallucinating, Oliver could not believe that Marcus Flint, his Slytherin rival for years, his Slytherin rival whom he'd gotten into more than one fistfight with, was sitting on a broom floating not ten feet away.

And in the Seeker's position, no less. The look on Oliver's face was priceless, if what Flint said was an indication. "Surprised to see me? A good Quidditch player would find out who's playing for the other team, Wood. Never know when it might be good information."

"Like it matters," Oliver muttered. He didn't care if Flint heard, he just shot him a good glare. What do I care anyway? He's in the Seeker's position. Flint is supposed to catch the Snitch, yeah, right, they might as well forfeit...

For the first time, Oliver didn't feel bad about the circumstances in which the Tornados had nearly dropped out of the League. If Marcus Flint was the best they could manage for a Seeker, what hope did they have?

Still, Oliver kept glaring daggers at him, right up until the ref tossed the Quaffle into the air above them all. Spurring his broom forward, Oliver was the first of Puddlemere's Chasers to make a grab for it.

He missed it by mere inches; the lead Tornado Chaser, a man named Smith, got his hand Quaffle just before Oliver would've had it and veered to the side.

There was no more crowd anymore, no noise beyond the rush of air as he moved and the sounds of the players in the pitch. He heard another Tornado Chaser, Jackson, call out that he was open.

Dashing down towards Brown, the third Chaser, Oliver saw his hunch proved correct. Either Jackson was an idiot and Smith was an original member of the team smart enough not to throw such an obvious pass, or they'd planned it.

When the Quaffle went to Brown, Oliver made a reach for it, but he hadn't made it in time. The very second Brown caught it, however, Dollie was on him. Before the Tornado could get a good grip on the ball, he snatched it right out of his hand.

Seeing that Dollie was cut off from turning around, Oliver kept going down towards Puddlemere's goals, bypassing the Chasers who didn't think anything of it. Dollie heaved the Quaffle at him, and as soon as Oliver had it in his right hand, he rolled to the left.

Not having the time to turn, he let the Quaffle go before he was completely upside down, and righted himself just in time to see Upton catch it and beeline for the goal posts.

Halfway to the Tornados' goal posts, Smith and Jackson caught up with him. He dodged a tackle from Jackson, but it sent him right towards Smith; Dollie chose to at least keep the Quaffle away for another few seconds and tossed it blindly into the air.

Reaching out for it, Oliver could nearly feel the leather on his fingertips, and then another shape came into his focus behind it; it was also spherical, and getting larger. A Bludger had been sent straight at his face by one of the Tornados' Beaters.

He really tried to make it, all he needed was another second, but the Bludger was just too fast. Grabbing back onto his broom tightly, Oliver veered off as hard as he could, hearing a frightening woosh as the Bludger zipped by his head.

He regained his balance just in time to see Jackson heading back with the Quaffle.

"And Wood narrowly misses the Quaffle, to say nothing of a Bludger attack!"

"Oliver Wood is an example of a problem the Tornados have had to deal with on a larger scale...he's much better trained as a Keeper, but you don't go into a game with the team you wish you had, you go in with the team you've got at this very moment..."

"Oh, can you believe them," Conner scoffed. "Ollie played the whole other team for fools with that fake-out a minute ago!"

It took Jessica a second to realize that Conner was criticizing the commentators, not the Tornados. She moved her view away from Oliver and focused on Jackson, constantly peeking over the lens to watch as Oliver and Upton gave chase.

Oliver's mother had a much better handle on keeping track of everything at once; she pointed slightly downward, underneath the Quaffle action. "And the windies aren't the only ones with Beaters!"

When Anderson sent a Bludger at Jackson, it seemed like a sure-fire hit; but he jerked his weight to one side, completely losing control of his broom for a moment, avoiding the Bludger completely.

It missed Oliver, but winged Upton, and Oliver was thrown so far off course that he never had any chance of catching up to Jackson.

After Jackson passed the Quaffle, Brown caught it while barrel-rolling to the left and came out of the maneuver shooting for a goal hoop. Garret miscalled the direction completely, and he missed the save.

A very sizeable portion of the crowd let out a "boo."

"Brown scores for the Tornados; Tutshill Tornados make the first goal of the game!"

"Garret really dropped the ball on that one, so to speak. Even a good Keeper like that can make mistakes."

"Don't you worry," Oakley didn't sound like she was trying to be reassuring; she sounded like she was certain. "Game's just getting started!"

When the Tornados scored a second goal, Oliver had just about enough. He pulled up beside Dollie and threw him the hand signal that meant 'flank the Chaser in possession from the left,' but to Oliver, it really meant, 'help me get that Quaffle so I can make the opposing Keeper feel pathetic.'

It turned out that fate was on their side. Brown and Jackson were harassing Upton as soon as he got his hands on the Quaffle; Upton had nowhere to go, the opposing Chasers kept cutting him off every time he turned, but he managed to out-maneuver their attempts at tackling.

Waiting for just the right moment, when Brown lunged for the Quaffle and missed, when Jackson missed a second later, Upton threw the Quaffle before either of them could recover.

Dollie caught it; with two Chasers now bearing down on him, he waited until the last moment and passed it to Oliver. Smith, the only Tornado Chaser not after Upton, was too far away to make a difference.

As much as their aggression had worked for them, the Tornados' relative inexperience showed here. Had one of them tried to cover Oliver, Upton wouldn't have been able to make the pass.

As it was, Oliver was better on his broom than Smith; he faked to the left and then zoomed by Smith to the right, with a near-clear run to the goal posts.

Had he been closer to start with, he would've made it uninterrupted. With the distance he had to cover, Oliver saw Jackson catch up to him out of the corner of his eye, coming in from the left. Watching the Keeper float between the middle and left posts, Oliver went for the left.

As the Keeper moved closer to the hoop, as Jackson closed in, Oliver raised the Quaffle, looked straight ahead...and banked hard to the right. Using his momentum to help, he chucked the Quaffle over to Dollie.

Not even bothering to catch it, Dollie came to an abrupt stop and spun on the spot, whacking the Quaffle with the back of his broom clear through the right hoop.

"Wooooo! Go Oliver!"

Jessica was quite certain that Conner would tease her relentlessly for getting just as much into the game as he was. She felt safe, however; Oliver's mother shouted even louder.

"Wow, look at that," Conner exclaimed, looking over his Omnioculars and pointing towards Dollie, as he and Upton passed the Quaffle between themselves. On the forth pass, they sent it to Oliver, but Jackson had slipped between them.

"Jackson intercepts the Quaffle, slippery move there!"

"Maybe a lucky one, too...Wood had a clear line to the goal, if he'd gotten it."

"We may be seeing Oliver Wood make for the goal posts after all, he's giving chase, Wood is closing in on Jackson..."

"He's coming up from under, look," Conner said.

"Oh," Oliver's mother suddenly blanched; she recognized the motions as soon as Oliver began to lean up on his broom. "Oh no, he's not..."

Balancing carefully on his broom as he pushed up, Oliver committed fully to his maneuver and pushed all the way off, his legs guiding his broom underneath Jackson as he went into the air. Both hands reached up, he clamped them both down firmly on the Quaffle, still in Jackson's hand.

He had the extreme fortune of jumping when Jackson had been glancing in the other direction, as he hadn't quite generated the momentum he needed to effectively cartwheel over to Jackson's other side. He pushed off the Quaffle and pivoted around, making it just as Jackson lost his grip.

Seeing his broom come out below him, Oliver took a split-second to glance upwards and find Upton. Hurling the Quaffle with both hands as he finished the flip, Oliver felt satisfied when Upton caught it.

He felt less satisfied when he stuck the landing on his broom, and caught a foot on it.

Heart stopped for that one moment, Oliver felt himself falling forward, an accident that would've been a simple trip if he'd been on the ground.

Flailing, Oliver felt his hand hit his broom and clamped down tight, his other hand soon following. By the time he had some semblance of a grip, his broom had turned vertical from the awkward weight, bobbing about precariously in the air.

This was a problem; it made it much more difficult to get a good grip, and Oliver didn't think he'd have been able to hold on at all if not for his glove. Reaching up to get a hand higher, so he could throw his weight down and right the broom, Oliver only succeeded in letting his other hand slip.

"Wood!"

Marcus Flint broke off from his Snitch hunt and angled towards Oliver at top speed. For once not caring that it was Flint for once, Oliver gladly extended his now-free hand when he saw Flint reach out. The moment their eyes locked...Oliver's other hand slid clean off of his broom.

The last coherent thing Oliver saw was a look of surprise on Flint's face. He felt their fingers brush by each other, felt Flint's hand close but miss, grabbing a bit of sleeve, nowhere near enough to make any kind of difference.

The first two seconds were the most disorienting; he didn't fall straight down, he started tumbling right off the bad. Two seconds was too long to lose in freefall; it took Oliver another two seconds to reach for his wand at his leg, another second to point it at the ground when he tumbled end-over-end and it came into view. "Tomentio!"

The cushioning charm hit the ground less than a second before Oliver did. It was enough to save him from serious injury, slowing him down at the last possible second, but it wasn't perfect; Oliver landed on his left arm, and though he didn't feel it when it happened, he heard the crack of a bone breaking. Unable to stop, he rolled twice through the tall grass, coming to rest on his back right in the middle of a swampy puddle of water.

Squinting his eyes, Oliver could just barely make out the shapes of brooms flying overhead.

As much as Oliver's father didn't get excitable over Quidditch itself, he was more than excitable over Oliver falling to the ground, leaning halfway over the railing as if it would focus his omnioculars better. "He's moving, he's moving!"

"Oh, thank heavens!" Mrs. Wood breathed a sigh of relief, but she wasn't calm by any means. "Imagine, trying that move in his weight class! I'm going to kill him!"

"Oliver Wood making the pass but botching the landing of his maneuver, the Mediwizards are reaching him now..."

"Looks like they're signaling that he's okay. An impressive attempt at a Sabryn Steal for someone of Wood's build, but he didn't quite have the agility to make the landing, it looked like!"

"An impressive show of sportsmanship from Tutshill's Seeker, as well, though Flint was obviously unsuccessful in making that save..."

Not having the faintest idea what wizarding medicine was like, Jessica and Conner could only join Oliver's parents in staring down at him; Conner had his voice back first. "Look, he's standing up, that's a good sign, right?"

"Oh, they'd have carted him off already if it was serious," Oliver's father breathed an enormous sigh of relief. "Thickheaded as he is, I imagine he'll be back into it shortly."

"They'd have stopped the game if he was worse off, too," Oakly pointed up, "See, they just brought in a reserve until they clear him to fly. I still can't believe he tried that!"

"An update from the Mediwizards; Wood isn't seriously injured, they're mending a broken arm now and they expect him to be back in the game momentarily."

"Good news for Puddlemere from a gaming standpoint, I'm sure. Their reserve Chaser, Steddler, can't seem to keep possession of the Quaffle very well..."

Collectively, Conner and Jessica, right along with Oliver's parents, let out a breath.

"I'm fine," Oliver groaned. His arm was ridiculously sore, but that was to be expected. He could use it again, though, which means he could get back in the game.

The Mediwitch going over him with a fine-tooth comb wasn't satisfied. "Young man, you're bleeding."

"Details!" Oliver practically shrieked, but she ignored him and simply tapped her wand to a large gash above his ear.

"Episkey."

The other Mediwizard put one last mending charm on his arm. "How's that?"

"Hurts like hell, but I've had worse," Oliver tried to bend the elbow back and forth a few times, knowing that it would take days for the stiffness and dull throb to go away, but he didn't care. When he realized what he'd said, he quickly added, "I mean, it's fine! Perfect!"

To his surprise, the cranky witch gave him the O-K, and all Oliver had to do next was walk the few steps over to where his broom had landed. Fresh adrenaline driving him as he swung himself onto the broom and took off, Oliver made a resolve.

He would demonstrate to the Tornados that they'd seen nothing yet.