A/N: Took me forever to think of something that felt right for this prompt.

tavotur - (adj.) wet, or damp with tears [icelandic]

'Just one more save. One more, and then we'll call it for today.'

Oliver Wood was slowly coming back to game fitness after taking a few too many bludgers to the shoulder this season. Every stretch still hurt, but it was a dull ache, one that would go away with enough ice and pain potions. Of course, you couldn't really take those during a game, so if the pain was too much, they wouldn't let you keep flying, because passing out from pain at a few dozen meters up wasn't recommended for even the heartiest of wizards.

So, soaked in sweat and maybe a few tears, Olliver signaled to the chaser line to make another run. They came in about 80% of game speed, but their passing was precise and pulled him away from the post he needed to cover. 'OK. Again.'

Another run, 80% again. This time a straight line right at him, but a quick deke just as he came out to challenge put the Quaffle in the hoop. 'Ow. Yeah, that still hurts. Again.'

The chasers looked at each other. They could see their teammate was hurting, but all of them knew how hard Ollie pushed himself, and how badly he wanted to be back on the field for real. They came in again, 70% speed this time. As if sensing that they were taking it a little easier this time, Oliver came out from the goals and tried to punch the Quaffle away from the lead, but it ricocheted right into the hands of another chaser and the easy shot hit its mark.

"Come on, do it for real!" Oliver shouted. "If I can't make the stop, better I find out here than in a game. Again!" He almost doubled over, forehead nearly touching his broom as pain and exhaustion threatened, but he forced himself mostly upright. 'I need this. One more.'

This time, the run came in full speed. And something in Oliver's head told him that it didn't matter how many passes they threw, the shot was coming for his right post. His shoulder was going to be very displeased with him, but if he was right, this was his save to make. 'Pass, pass, pass, pa…no, that's a fake, here it comes!'

As the chaser cocked his arm into shooting position, Oliver began his dive. As the ball left the chaser's hand, heading directly for the right post, Oliver stretched out his arm. As leather met his magically enhanced glove, he settled for deflecting the shot, knowing that trying a catch would only wrench his arm further. A jolt still traveled from his wrist to his injured shoulder, but as the ball fell harmlessly under his hoop, the only thing Oliver felt was jubilation.