Chapter 5
At 06:00am it was still dark outside, but the sky was streaked with the first hints of read in the east. As Brenda was descending the stairs into the dining room, Oliver was already waiting for her. As he saw her wrapped in a tweed coat with a hood, he nodded in approval. "Good choice of clothing," he said with a hint of a smile. Brenda raised an eyebrow at him as he was once again just dressed in a thick, woollen jumper and a scarf. "I'll be warm soon," he explained. From sitting on a broomstick while facing cold winds?, Brenda thought sarcastically. She took the lead leaving the inn and started walking purposefully towards the Quidditch pitch that wasn't far outside of Hogsmeade. She didn't know whether he usually apparated there, but she definitely would not apparate with a wizard she hardly knew. Besides, she hated the feeling. She always felt sick afterwards. Her body didn't like it.
While they were walking, Oliver explained the quaffle, bludgers and snitch and beaters, chasers, seeker and keeper to her. It wasn't actually all that hard to understand and as he was talking, the memories from childhood games came back to her. But Brenda didn't want to interrupt him, as his eyes had started sparkling as he was talking about his sport. Brenda shot him a sly glance. "It's clear you're a big fan. But what would you have done if you had taken your first flying lessons at school and found you weren't good at it?" – Oliver thought for a while, then said, "That wasn't an option. Also, one day briefly before I left for Hogwarts I nicked my older brother's broom and managed to fly it a little." – "Oh wow that's dangerous!" – Oliver lifted one corner of his mouth. "That's what my parents said, too. But then they were really impressed with the fact I managed to lift myself and the broom off the ground. From then on it was kind of a given I'd try out for my future house's quidditch team as soon as I was allowed to." – Brenda watched him curiously. "But why did you try out as keeper? It's an important position, no doubt, but…" She compared it to football in her mind. "Isn't it… cooler to be able to score goals or catch the golden ball? Aren't those the players that are usually more celebrated?" – Oliver shrugged. "Seekers are usually slight of frame, and I wasn't even back then. The team needed a keeper more than a chaser, so…" His shoulders were still drawn up. "Turns out I am quite good at anticipating which ring the others are trying to score."
As they had reached the pitch, Oliver summoned a great chest with a flick of his wand to show Brenda the balls. The bludgers were fidgeting around in their confinement while the quaffle was just patiently waiting for its turn. Brenda lifted it up: it was a lot heavier than expected. She threw it up into the air and caught it a few times. "Doesn't it hurt?" she then asked. Oliver, who'd just removed his scarf and placed it next to the chest on the damp grass, threw her a questioning glance. "What exactly?" – "You know," she threw the quaffle at him and he caught it with one hand almost without looking at it, "-blocking it. If it's thrown hard. I'm sure you also use your body to stop it from going through the rings." – Oliver chuckled. "No, the quaffle doesn't hurt. These here though," he pointed at the bludgers with his foot, "they can do some damage, that's true." – "Is it worth it?" Brenda asked almost inaudibly, avoiding his eyes. "Getting a serious injury from doing sports?" – "Well there's always a risk to your physical or mental health, no matter what job you're in," he then stated. "Also, quidditch is pretty awesome." – "Right," Brenda hid her smile behind a hand. – "I haven't even shown you the snitch yet." Oliver opened a tiny compartment and pulled out a small golden ball. He then took one of her hands, turned it palm up and placed the snitch in it. "It'll unfold its wings in a second," he said, but nothing happened. Brenda faked a careless laugh. "Oh, well, I suppose it doesn't like being held by a non-magical being." She closed her hand around the tiny ball to return it to Oliver, but he wouldn't have any of it. He caught her closed fist with his, stopping her mid-movement. There was a worried look in his eyes. When he turned her fingers back up, Brenda could feel a slight fluttering. The sparkle was back in Oliver's eyes. "Careful. Don't let it fly. I'm not really very good at catching it again." – Although she was used to magic, seeing the little golden ball unfold its fragile-seeming wings was special. It filled her with awe and she didn't even know why. She made a cage out of her fingers and held the snitch as if it was a butterfly. "They're not alive, are they? It's just magic." – Oliver, who'd been watching her, nodded. "No, they're not alive." – "Pity," Brenda murmured. Oliver had stepped close again, probably to return the snitch to its home, but so far he had made no move to take it from her. He was just standing really closely to her – close enough Brenda caught his scent again. Brenda slowly lifted the hand she held the snitch in. Oliver gingerly took it from her, but he didn't step back. Instead, he was looking down at her with a look in his eyes Brenda couldn't interpret. "Why don't you show me what you're really very good at, then?" she finally suggested. She couldn't stand the silence anymore, she'd get the feeling he liked her back otherwise. Liked her back? Oh dear, Brenda… A grin spread over Oliver's face. "It'll be a pleasure." It was only way later in the day that Brenda realised that Oliver had touched her ringed hand several times, but the charm hadn't been activated. Really, oh dear, Brenda.
Brenda managed to sneak in a little after Oliver and convince her mother she hadn't kept her company during breakfast because she'd gone for an early morning walk. Her mother hadn't questioned her after that – Brenda's "strange muggle customs" usually worked to keep her parents from questioning her further. She left Oliver to get his own coffee and headed straight back to her room, throwing the ring into a corner as soon as she'd closed the door behind her. She knew why it hadn't worked: the charm was set off if somebody else's skin touched the ring unless she didn't want the person to be stunned. But it was more than that: Brenda couldn't simply decide "now I don't want the ring to work and now I do". It was more of an innermost, deeper feeling. For example, it would never have worked on her parents whom she'd known and loved all her life. It also hadn't worked on her former muggle boyfriend (she hadn't really wanted to stun him, she'd just been curious as to whether it would work). To her, it was proof that her little crush had transformed into something a little bigger. The government really should offer special psychotherapy for squibs. It was just too hard. She didn't even allow herself to dream about entering into a relationship with a wizard – any wizard – because the power imbalance would simply be too great. Also, they'd never be able to really understand her, the world she was living in. Furthermore, she'd decided long ago she didn't like wizards. They didn't give a fig about muggles and even less about squibs, the epitomes of dashed hopes. So, Brenda wouldn't give a fig about wizards either. She owed this to her childhood-self who'd had such a tough time of it.
She spent the morning colouring her sketches and pondering on how Quidditch might be an actual sport after all. She wasn't sure yet, but the level of control Oliver had exerted over his broom just by shifting his body weight was extraordinary. With his quick reflexes, his range seemed to go from free-falling until he almost hit the ground only to pull up his broom shortly before the impact to zig-zagging around the goal hoops so fast Brenda had hardly been able to follow him with her eyes.
The commotion of the returning team set in a lot earlier than expected, just after Brenda had her sandwich for lunch. As she was sitting in the dining room once again (meaning to paint but lost in thought), she heard the wizards apparate outside and their muddled voices soon after. She rose to open the door and her feet were once again stepped on by Mac who seemingly had leaned against the door. Which wasn't a clever thing to do, really… she stopped mid-thought. Something was off. "Is everything alright?" Brenda asked loudly, but she was looking at Mac who was closest to her and also the only other player besides Oliver who'd bothered to introduce themselves to her. Now, Mac looked at her from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry. Keeper just took a bludger awry and we didn't want him splinching himself while apparating back." He shot a dirty look at someone who might be one of the beaters. "Oliver?" Brenda asked. – "The one," Mac answered, lifting an eyebrow ever so slightly. It was only then that Brenda saw Oliver at the back of the group, doubled over and supporting himself with his hands on his knees. With the help of one of the female players, he straightened up carefully but kept his left arm clutched to his front. Brenda's thoughts were all over the place. "Will he be alright?" – "Yes of course," Mac said dismissively, then pulled her aside a little. "Look, the team physician will be over in a while to make sure he'll need no bones fixed and heal his organs, but the rest of us, we'll have to return to the pitch or the coach will have our heads. Do you mind showing the doc up to Wood's room once she's arrived?" – Brenda nodded. She couldn't get a word out. As Oliver was shuffling and limping past her, lips pressed into a thin line, she tried to catch his gaze to see for herself whether he was alright, but he was just staring straight ahead. Brenda was following at a slow pace to see which of the rooms was Oliver's. The team was soon heading back outside, but they'd left the door to Oliver's room slightly ajar. Brenda knocked quietly and peeked inside. Oliver was sitting in the armchair, in comfortable clothes, his training robes were cast aside in a corner of the room. He was ghostly pale, but he opened his eyes slowly. "What happened?" Brenda whispered. She had to properly enter the room in order to understand his mumbled answer. "Beater missed the bludger. Hit me square on." As if on cue, he squeezed his eyes shut again and doubled over while sitting on the edge of the armchair. If possible, he was even paler than before when he looked up again. "Don't worry, 's happened before," he slurred. "I'll be just fine." Then he pointed to the plastic bin in a corner of the room, adding, "D'ye mind?" – Brenda carried the bin to him. – "Don't want to be sick all over the room." He took a few laboured breaths bent over the bin in silence. Brenda was horrified. It seemed like his insides had received a thorough beating. It was just wizards with their magical medicine who could afford to stay as calm as his team had in the face of such a horrible injury. "Don't stay on my account," Oliver offered after a while. Brenda crossed her arms defiantly. "They told us back in first aid class we were never to leave an injured or sick person alone. If it can be helped." – "Alright then." His voice was almost inaudible and he looked as if he was too drained now to even double over. – "Don't pass out now, please." Brenda felt his forehead, which was burning up. "What's taking your doctor so long? You're probably bleeding internally." – "Huh? Yeah, I know. Doc can fix it. Don't worry." – "But I am worried!" Brenda exclaimed. – "Don't be," he murmured once more before actually passing out. Brenda dashed to the front door, not knowing what to do if the doctor didn't show up soon.
Fortunately, she apparated in front of her just seconds later. "I'm looking for Wood, I think," the doctor told her. – "Yes, he's upstairs. He just passed out. I think he's bleeding internally." – "Ugh. Damn." The doctor hurried inside on Brenda's heels. "What happened?" – "A bludger hit him full on in the stomach. I think the beater failed to intercept it." – The doctor cursed. "Must've been Hardy. Don't know why he's on the team. The bludgers they use in the first quidditch league aren't to be trifled with. They can cut you in half. Hardy's almost killed off half the team with his negligence already." – "He's in that room," Brenda pointed to the door. The doctor rushed inside and then stopped dead. "He collapsed like this?" She cocked her head and inspected Oliver, who was lying on the floor on his belly, one knee pulled up a little and a hand cushioning his head. Brenda raised an eyebrow. "No. I put him into the recovery position, of course." – "The what?" the doctor asked. – "The recovery position. If someone's unconscious, it prevents them choking on their vomit and such..?" Brenda added, flabbergasted at the doctor's ignorance. But the doctor just kept looking at her in confusion. – "Look, I'm a squib. It's a muggle thing. Nevermind. Just heal him, will you?" – The doctor ran some diagnostic spells over him, nodding all the time. "Just as I thought." She then grabbed Oliver by the shoulder and a leg and unceremoniously rolled him on his back. Immediately, blood started trickling from the corner of his mouth down his cheek instead of on the floor. His breathing became laboured almost instantly, but the doctor had already started whispering spells. Brenda turned around and tried to busy herself in the dining room. Of course, there was nothing to do. Her parents had the breakfast dishes and cutlery magically clean itself hours ago. The floor had been swept as well and the tables wiped. Brenda's fingers itched for something to do, but she ended up simply waiting for what felt like a long time. Finally, the doctor appeared on the stairs. "Don't look so scared," she told Brenda. "He'll be fine. Don't worry, though, if you hear him retching. He'll have to vomit up all the blood that's got into his stomach. He should feel considerably better tomorrow. But he's still banned from practise until the day after tomorrow. I'll tell the coach as well." – Yes, do that, Brenda replied in her head. It's not like I could stop him. The doctor was halfway out the door already when she turned back around. "That position you put him in…" – "The recovery position?" Brenda supplied the word. – "Yes, the one. Makes a lot of sense. Especially when a healer can't be summoned immediately." – "Yes, I know. It's first aid 1-01. In the muggle world, of course," Brenda added. Where healers couldn't apparate anywhere in a matter of seconds. The doctor nodded. "Just know: you did good. For a muggle." – Gee, thanks. Brenda just shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen.