Oliver Wood and the Muggleborn's Wand
Chapter 17
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"Ooohhh, your teammates are a blast, Ollie." No sooner had the words left Conner's mouth than he tripped on something trivial, an uneven crack in the sidewalk with rough ice caked over it. Jessica tried to catch him, though he wasn't going to fall anyway. "I'm a little drunk..."

Oliver and Jessica weren't nearly as sloshed as Conner; they had a buzz going on, though. It didn't sap their intelligence enough to try driving the five minutes home when they'd finally taken the Portkey, and Oliver wondered if Conner would remember his car was still parked near the school.

"Oh, we can tell," Jessica let out a soft giggle, smiling up at Oliver. Everything seemed funnier than it should have.

Oliver was the most sober of the three, by virtue of having too much on his mind for the small amount of alcohol he'd consumed. The after-game party had been more of a short way if sharing misery, with half of Puddlemere United getting so drunk they wouldn't remember losing, and the other half getting barely drunk so they could check on Victoria sooner rather than later.

It was hard enough seeing his parents home; Oliver knew, intelligently, that they would never be disappointed in his performance - he wasn't even the Seeker - but there was an irrational hurt to losing the game. He'd always, always been a good sportsman, the closet he'd ever come to being a sore loser had been when the Dementors knocked Potter off his broom.

And yet, now, he couldn't help but feel bothered, as if he was torn in two.

Still, Oliver had to make sure Jessica and Conner got home safely, so he hadn't downed a bottle of vodka to escape the sting of defeat.

Conner did not make it as far as his bedroom. He flopped onto their couch, and Oliver took care in nudging him around, until he was lying on his side. He didn't think Conner was that drunk, but Oliver didn't know how drunk Conner could be before his stomach decided it'd had enough.

"Mmmm, great game, man." His voiced faded more with every word. The couch may as well have been enchanted to make someone laying down on it feel sleepy, for all the time it took him to pass out.

"Well," Jessica said, straightening her posture, "That's taken care of."

Oliver couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad he had a good time...err, you had a good time, right?"

"Are you kidding?" She did that giggle again, and it made Oliver blush. "That was bloody awesome, Oliver. We can do that again sometime, right? Please?"

Thrilled at her response, thrilled even more that she didn't mention the loss, Oliver turned a slightly darker shade of red. "Aye, I'd love it if you'd come to another game sometime...'specially now that my parents have gotten it out of their system." Silence followed; with her question answered, Jessica couldn't think of anything sensible to say anymore. Feeling a need to say something, he said the only thing he could think of. "You want some coffee or something?"

"How about water," she said, tapping the side of her head with her index finger. "Much better anti-hangover medication."

"Yeah," Oliver nodded. "Yeah."

It had been an implied invitation to his flat, and, despite the fact that Jessica's kitchen sink was in perfect working order, that was where they ended up. Oliver had no couch or anything else to sit on besides the kitchen table; he left Jessica there with a glass of water. "Give me a sec, I need some fresh clothes."

He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he needed a shower. Once his Quidditch robes were discarded in the corner, he returned to her wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that didn't entirely hide the need to get swamp off of himself, but it was enough.

She smelled nice, in comparison. Not like a swamp, but like the saner part of a Quidditch game, like the lawn they'd camped out on and the cleaner, watery smell of the pitch above the grass at the bottom. Oliver's mind was slow enough that contemplating this reduced him into a near-catatonic state.

"Oliver?" She waved a hand in front of his face. Watching him jump, she added, "You still awake?"

"Barely," he said. "I can't believe the game was only a few hours ago...feels so long ago it's like it never happened."

Eyeing the windows, Jessica's face fell slightly. "That's because the sun's coming up. Between the game and going out with your team...no wonder Conner told me to take the day after it off of work, too."

"So you really had a good time, then," Oliver smiled. He just loved hearing her answer.

"Just don't tell Conner, he'll never let me live it down, that I like a sport as much as he does."

Laughing, Oliver started to wonder how late into the afternoon he would sleep.

"Oliver...Oliver!"

The landscape was surreal, as if the sky was on fire. There weren't any spectators in the pitch, but the stands were far too low, like a Muggle football stadium.

Oliver felt fear, but not of the voice. The voice was his own, and he wasn't surprised to see his Other running towards him across the grass when he turned around. Golden fireflies brighter than light bulbs danced about the tall grass, giving the man a strange glow.

What frightened Oliver was the look on his face. The red eyes were even stranger now, with a look of fear in them. Oliver said nothing, even as the Other grabbed his arms and shook him. "Oliver, what are you doing? Can't you sense it? Can't you feel it?"

A thump, the distinct sound of something blunt hitting skin...the Other's look grew vacant, his eyes slid half-closed as he fell forward. Oliver caught him, seeing the man who'd hit him in the head standing just behind.

There was no object in the man's hands he could've struck with. He had no discernable features; he was someone Oliver didn't know, decked out in a simple black cloak with a hood that hid his face. Confused, Oliver merely watched.

His feet wouldn't move when he tried to make them. The sight that played out before him made very little sense; the enigmatic man hefted the Other up, ignoring Oliver completely. And Oliver watched on as his counterpart was thrown unceremoniously onto the back of the unicorn, a unicorn that the hooded man mounted and rode away. The pitch was gone now, replaced by open swampland.

Soon enough, the unicorn was out of sight.