Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Notes: My first Katie/Oliver! Not something I'd usually pick up, but I've been reading them and I thought I'd give it a go. I'm just glad I've had a chance to write, though. It's been crazy lately. In fact, I was planning on finishing up Christopher, but instead you get this. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

And make sure you review; I'm still not sure I like the characterization and you can let me know.

Aliss


Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself.

— Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 15, page 302

Quite the Team

Oliver Wood had never been this nervous in his entire life, he was sure of it. But then again, he'd never had any reason to be this nervous anyway. And the reason was, of course, Quidditch.

It was Oliver's last year at Hogwarts and, he thought with an uncomfortable pang, his last year to win the Quidditch Cup. Their victory was almost guaranteed, but that didn't stop the feeling that he was going to chuck from finding a permanent home in his stomach.

Trying to ignore the knowledge that he might be revisiting the dinner he had shoved down his throat, he took a moment to locate his team members and make sure they weren't doing anything that might cause an injury, which might cost them the game, which would certainly cost them—cost him—the Cup. He found himself shivering at the thought, followed by a wave of nausea, which he suppressed.

There were the Weasley twins, being louder and rowdier than ever before, in the middle of the common room telling jokes; then there was Potter, one of the best Seekers Oliver had ever been fortunate enough to see, hiding in a corner with two friends, looking pale and swallowing often; Johnson, Spinnet, and Katie, the best Chasers he'd ever known, were surrounding the Weasleys, laughing at their jokes; and, of course, Oliver was pressed in a corner by himself.

Oliver drew his attention from where one of the Weasley twins—George, he reckoned, though it was impossible to tell—had said something that made Katie peer over in his direction. Frowning a bit, he went back to the miniature model of the Quidditch pitch he had across his knees.

On the tiny pitch were seven little figures, each outfitted in scarlet and minute labels scribbled in Oliver's unintelligible scrawl. Prodding the figures in a certain way with his wand, they were able to perform the many plays and tactics Oliver had spent hour upon hour writing and perfecting. (It was only when Angelina Johnson had exploded at him and left practice early did he stop revising his ideas.)

He absentmindedly prodded one of the figures as Katie and Alicia Spinnet laughed loudly over something Johnson had said. Oliver felt his stomach give a jolt and had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from retching all over his model.

Oliver hated that nervous jolt, and hated it even more as he was experiencing it more and more often lately. Should Quidditch practice come around, it was soon to follow. Discussing moves with Spinnet and Katie, it would surface with an unexpected lurch. Eating (or trying to eat) breakfast with the team early the morning of the game and that jolt would make it even more difficult to choke down food than it already was (though he usually ended up eating nothing the way it was).

Giving his head a shake, he turned back to his Quidditch pitch. He frowned as he noticed that one of his players was out of position—Katie Bell. Instead of being halfway up the pitch as she should be, she was hovering annoyingly close to her own goal hoops. Moreover, she was unusually close to Oliver himself.

Massaging his stomach with one hand (for it had jolted again), he directed Katie's figure back to its proper position with the other.

"Katie…," he muttered to himself as he prodded her figure in revenge for messing up the highly complicated and handy play.

"What's that, Wood?" said a familiar voice behind him. "Did I hear my name?"

Oliver clenched his jaw for a moment as Katie sat next to him, as not to chuck on her. After swallowing with difficulty, he opened his mouth to say, "You weren't following the play."

"I wasn't, you say?" she repeated, eyebrow raised.

Oliver shook his head briefly. "I look away for one second and when I turn back, you're in a different position!" He proceeded to look past Katie and then back at the model in example.

"See there! You've done it again!" he exclaimed.

Katie shook her head and giggled.

"That wasn't me, Oliver, it was you!" At his knitted eyebrows, she took his wand hand in hers and directed her figure back. "Now when you turn this way, your arm sort of—yeah, like that—and you push my piece next to yours."

He frowned, shook his hand from hers, prodded her figure again, and said, "Oh."

"Oh, indeed," she chimed in.

After a few minutes of silently directing the tiny figures, Oliver looked up to find Katie watching him. "Any reason you came over here?"

"Am I not allowed to sit next to my favorite Quidditch Captain?" Katie teased, to which Oliver muttered, "I'd better be."

"Always have been, Wood," she said good-humouredly, ruffling his hair (he felt a jolt).

"I'd only asked," Oliver went on, "because I'm afraid I might chuck on you soon."

Katie wrinkled her nose before saying, "And I was to deliver the message that you shouldn't be so nervous. You've got an unbeatable team—you'll see."

"And who was this message from?"

"Why, me, of course!" she replied, prodding the figures with what Oliver recognized as his own wand, which was no longer in his hand.

Snatching it back, he noticed what she had two of the figures doing. The miniature figures of he and Katie were passing the Quaffle back and forth with ease.

Throwing an arm around Katie's shoulders and ruffling her hair (she slapped his hand away), Oliver watched with interest as miniature Katie tried to score on his miniature self, who saved the goal with a dive. The tiny Oliver took a victory lap around the hoops, during which time Katie's figure managed to score twice.

After a moment, the real Katie, the one who was pressed up against Oliver (who wasn't sure how she had gotten so close), said quietly, "They make quite the team, don't they?"

"Indeed," said Oliver, his stomach jolting. "Quite the team."

FIN.