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


Epilogue: Several Months Later...

"There's our seats, right there."

Practically diving into the chair, Conner put his feet up on the guardrail in front of them and kicked back. They had nice seats, though the game had yet to begin. "I like knowing a pro-athlete. Great perks."

Not taking the seat next to him, Oliver, instead, approached the rail with Jessica. Hands together, they looked out over the Wimbourne Wasp's home pitch. It was brightly lit, a giant wasp buzzing around trailing a banner for the team. "I almost like not being in the game...almost."

"There's always next year," Jessica said. "For your team to win the league, I mean."

"I'll settle for at least coming closer than the Tornados," Oliver chuckled, a slight indignance in his voice. He wasn't going to admit it, but he'd been absolutely thrilled at Conner again wearing his Puddlemere United T-shirt. "Still haven't lived that down."

"Neverwill, if I have anything to say about it, Wood."

Turning his head, Oliver was greeted by the sight of Marcus Flint leaning against the rail nearby, arms crossed. The idea of Flint being agood Seeker was so rediculous that Oliver still hadn't really processed it. He was sure Flint was quite willing to brag about it. "Flint."

The idea of inviting Flint to the game as an olive-branch was something Oliver hadn't done lightly. It was almost another way of competing with the man; he knew Flint had put their past squabbles behind them - and thensome - and Oliver didn't want to be the one who couldn't let go of a grudge.

He saw Flint's eyes drift downward, stopping on Oliver's hand, its fingers laced with Jessica's. The look on his face didn't change. He grinned, let out a sad little chuckle, and sat down next to Conner.

Watching Marcus introduce himself, and watching Conner look thrilled at meeting another Quidditch player, Oliver rolled his eyes. Turning back to Jessica, he said, "How long d'you think it'll take them to get married?"

"I'd be more worried about them finding underage Tutshill groupies," she answered.

Looking back out over the pitch again, Oliver felt quite horrified at the mental images entering his mind. Jessica's comment was terrible; the idea of Marcus hitting on Conner was even worse. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."

Their hands coming apart when they sat down to Conner's other side, Oliver stretched an arm across Jessica's back. Feeling her lean over and do the same, Oliver slouched a little in contentment. "You know, I take it back...watching a game I'm not in isn't really that bad."

"Wasps versus the Arrows," Marcus said. "For the league cup, no less. Gonna be violent."

After taking a survey of the stands all around them, Jessica said, "It's not as loud as it was last time..."

By 'last time' she meant the first game of the season, and she was right. This was something Oliver wasn't, at all, dissapointed about. Being in the game with that much crazyness was an experience in and of itself; he didn't think he could possibly live up to that level of enthusiasm while a spectator. Besides, it was only less insane reletive to that particular game. It was still insane, and with the rivalry between the teams competing for the cup, it was certain to get even more insane when the game actually started. "Dark Lord's been gone for awhile now. Being rid of him doesn't add extra to anything anymore...strange how things can fade away so fast."

"That's a good thing, Wood." Marcus leaned forward to look at him around Conner. "Tell a Muggleborn who survived Registration that they should put in effort to remembering it."

"Didn't say it wasn't a good thing," Oliver made eye-contact with him. "Just said it was strange."

For a brief moment, Oliver thought Flint was baiting him, but his voice lacked bite. Bizarre as it was, they were actually just having a conversation. Leaning back into his chair, Flint added, "Right."

"It's gonna be a great game," Oliver said. Looking up at the sky as the sunset turned it all sorts of colors, he moved his free hand and ran the thumb once down the middle of his chest. The long scar was easy to feel through his shirt, but it didn't feel like something wrong. It was just there, and touching it was more of a habit. All was right with the world.

End

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Thanks to...

-Zach
-Marty
-Rachel
-All of you who left feedback; in this fandom, twenty-chapter stories could easily go by completely unnoticed, and you made sure this one didn't.

I've organized some notes and thoughts in an entry on my blog for commentary; check my profile for the link.