Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 16
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Not For Profit work. Harry Potter and related materials © J.K. Rowling.
"As we enter hour five of the game, Puddlemere United's Keeper blocks a shot to his middle goal. Garret almost fell off his broom to make that save, and it just goes to show you that the position of Keeper can sometimes go underappreciated!"
"Being a Keeper means the potential to fall off your broom if it means getting that extra few inches of reach at any given moment, certainly requires a different frame of mind than most people imagine; thanks to Garret's broom work, Puddlemere remains over a hundred points ahead, four-ninety to Tutshill's three-eighty."
"It's still anybody's game; Garret returns the Quaffle to the pitch; Dollie with the Quaffle!"
Oliver made a successful block at Jackson; blocking Chasers intent on tackling the Quaffle-holder was a skill he picked up quickly, and a skill the entire team encouraged during practice. Flying at Jackson on a collision course and making only minimal adjustments to his flight, relying on Jackson to make the abrupt change in direction, required the same kind of chutzpah as deliberately losing balance on one's broom while playing Keeper, just to block a shot.
Oliver had no problem with this. When Jackson tried to swerve away and then angle back at Dollie, Oliver simply charged straight ahead and got right in the way once again.
"Wood," he heard Dollie yell, "Go north!"
That was fake-out talk. Immediately, Oliver knew that Upton must've been somewhere behind him. Dollie tossed him the Quaffle, and the second Oliver clamped his fingers down on it, Jackson edged closer and swung an arm out for a grab.
Oliver was already taking action. He dropped his altitude and speed, angling left and passing under Jackson before the other Chaser put his hand back on his broom. Not even bothering to look, Oliver chucked the Quaffle behind himself, over his head.
A quick glance after that gave him the sight of Upton catching it. In front, Jackson was slowing down, not yet realizing that Oliver had made the pass. Zooming by him, Upton waited for Jackson to correct his error and give chase, before tossing it right back to Oliver. Victoria zoomed right by him, ignoring him completely as she looked around for the Snitch, Flint not far behind.
And thus came the grand finale; Oliver gained as much ground in front of Jackson as he could, ducking to the left in an effort to gain just a few more feet before he hawked the Quaffle back to Dollie.
It almost worked, but Brown and Smith were already ahead of him. Shooting between them, Dollie bought himself a few more seconds, he just couldn't reach the goals before Smith lunged at him.
He waited until the last possible moment and passed to Oliver. Jackson was trying to reach him, but Oliver had the opening already.
Soaring upwards as he caught the Quaffle, Oliver reached a decent height and then dove down as fast as his Firebolt would go, on a forty-five degree angle for the right goal hoop.
It became the point of Oliver's existence; nothing else mattered but making the shot. If he weren't in the middle of a game, he would be thinking that he was the lowest-scoring Chaser on his team so far. He would be trying to tell himself that, considering the situation, he had still done an impressive job. He would be trying to tell himself that, even if he wasn't the next great Quidditch superstar, he was certainly not in danger of being replaced anytime soon.
Halfway to the right goal hoop, and none of these thoughts had occurred to Oliver. The Tornados' Keeper was firmly dug in right in front of the ring, glaring up at him, fully intent on being a human wall if need be.
Three-quarters of the way there, and Oliver changed nothing, except tightening his arm to hold the Quaffle close to his side. A second later, he made his move. Jerking the front of his broom up, Oliver pushed off and straight into the air, riding up with the jolt of momentum. Three feet above his broom, he let the Quaffle go, pushing it up and just a little in front.
Five feet off of it, he brought his arm up, hand held high. Six feet, and he spiked the Quaffle with every ounce of strength he had.
The Keeper didn't realize it until it was far, far too late. In fact, he wouldn't have had enough time if he'd started moving to the left goal right off the bat. Having fooled him completely, Oliver landed perfectly on his falling broom just as the score bell went off and echoed across the pitch.
"Dionysus Dive, Oliver Wood with a perfect Dionysus Dive scoring Puddlemere's fiftieth goal! Puddlemere United leads five-hundred to...down near the ground, the Seekers are neck and neck! The Golden Snitch must be right in front of them!"
"I think you're right, Martin! Flint and Victoria are crisscrossing each other and the Bludgers like their lives depend on it!"
It all happened so fast, before the Keeper even threw the Quaffle back into play. Oliver knew Victoria would win them the game right off the bat; she was half Flint's size and not only faster for it, but maneuvered better. Seeing the Snitch first would've won Marcus the catch, but neck and neck with the small woman, he didn't have a hope.
He was trying to use his weight advantage to push her off-course, but every time he shoved at her, she simply scooted around him. She even dodged easily when a Tornados Beater sent a Bludger at her side.
It was then that it all went horribly wrong. Alex Anderson sent a Bludger at Flint's face when he caught up to one circling in front. Flint tried to get out of the way, but the Bludger caught his shoulder.
Being twice Victoria's weight, he had no trouble staying on his broom after such a minor blow. She fell off when it deflected square into her chest. No sooner had it happened than Flint leapt from his broom, landing face-first on the swampy ground, skidding spectacularly while his broom crashed and rolled away from him.
One hand held up in triumph before he even tried to stand, Flint had all eyes on him. Oliver felt his stomach drop, nearly rolled right off of his broom as he realized what the announcers were about to say. Five seconds ago, he'd scored a fantastic goal. And now...
"Flint has the Snitch! Flint has the Snitch!"
"Marcus Flint caught the Snitch, it's over! What an upset! The Tornados win! Tutshill Tornados win, five-hundred-thirty to five-hundred!"
Their Seekers on the ground, both teams landed instead of basking in the game's afterglow in the air, Puddlemere to check on Victoria, the Tornados to throw Flint into the air.
Oliver landed just in time to hear a Mediwitch tell Coach Murphy that Victoria had come away from the Bludger with a broken sternum; they were laying her out on a stretcher, though the pain wasn't enough to distract her from the same depression hitting the entire team. "Sorry, Coach," she gurgled up, "I blew it..."
Coach Murphy was infuriated, just not about the game. He wasn't the type to put anything before the health of his team. "For the love of...you have broken bones, idiot! Worry about it when I bust your arse harder in practice!"
She wouldn't be making it to practice for a couple of weeks, at least. The thought sent Oliver's hand to the arm that had been broken; it was still sore, and now that he'd finished the game, it felt like he'd lifted weights with it for ten hours straight. Victoria would be even worse off.
Unwilling to stand around and mope near his team, because it just made him feel guilty, Oliver hefted his broom over his shoulders and shuffled through the grass. The swamp water eventually soaked through his boots like it had already soaked through his robes the first time he fell, and he knew the smell had stuck already, like it always did.
He made no effort to appear humble as he approached the Tornados, though he was sure he didn't need to put effort into it. He felt incredibly pathetic. None of them even noticed him; they were too busy hooting, hollaring, and putting Flint down when he swore at them for not thinking of the ribs he'd broken in his dive for the Snitch. "Flint."
Marcus was the only one really surprised at Oliver's presence, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly, his teammates immediately quieting themselves in anticipation of whatever Oliver might further do to cement their victory. "What do you want, Wood?"
The words spilled from Oliver's mouth automatically. He meant them, he really did, but still...it was Flint, after all. "Nice catch."
For that single moment, it was like being back in school, only not. The tension was there, but Oliver never would've given Flint an actual compliment. Nor would Flint have answered with, "Thanks."
"Why'd you do it?" Oliver blurted out. He had no idea why he felt a need to ask. "Why'd you grab at me when I fell? I always figured you wanted to see me crash and burn..."
"Hah!"
Flint looked so ecstatic; Oliver was surprised that he didn't burst out into laughter. When Flint took a step forward and, despite his injuries, grabbed Oliver in a light, sporting hug, Oliver felt like he wasn't in reality anymore.
None of that compared to the surprise of the words Flint whispered when he was close and no one else could hear. "Wood...if I had what I wanted, I'd be grabbing at you in my bed after the game instead of trying to grab you every time you're falling away."
Near them, the flash of a camera filled their spot of the pitch with light.
"Well, th- wait, what." It was too much. Oliver couldn't believe it. Did Flint, Marcus Flint, who he'd been in so many fights with, just say that? Oliver couldn't help but think, Did that just happen?
Flint was already gone, backing up to his team, to the celebration waiting for him. His fingers and thumb in a circle, Marcus gave Oliver a salute from above the eye. Smiling that crooked smile of his, as if he'd accomplished something tremendously unfair, he said, "Be seeing you."
Totally scandalized, Oliver turned around and walked back towards his team. It was even more depressing, seeing everyone as the wishful losers from afar.
He wondered if Jessica and Conner were looking down at him right now, and if the sight of him made them feel the same way.