Title: Quidditch Wives
Words: 7,138
Genre: Romance/Humor
Relationship: Oliver/Hermione
Music: Glory Box - Portishead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: She'd never been much of a fan for the game, but she liked even less the wives that came with.

Quidditch Wives
by: atruwriter


It was hard to believe anyone would marry the vapid cows, but here she was… stuck sitting with them at the biggest game of the year. Her husband asked her not to insult them and she was trying her best, but if they brought up her hair one more time! She shifted in her seat, switching the position of her crossed legs, purposely ignoring the women around her and focusing her interest on the game ahead of her. Puddlemere United was up against the Appleby Arrows and the score was neck and neck. She wished she could've sat in the stands with her friends, but since it was the last game of the season and the most important, all of the player's wives had to be present and in the main box, to show their support. Somehow, she didn't think discussing fashion, hair, and what they were going to spend their husband's winnings on was really all that supportive.

Her youngest son, Jayden, sat in her lap; sucking on a sugarquill and watching the players zoom around in the air. His sticky hands smacked together whenever he saw his brother and sister clapping, but he really had no grasp of the game yet. He was only two years old and he was quite the dreamer, really. His brother, on the other hand, was a Quidditch fanatic. Her eldest child Alexander, who was fifteen, could repeat a game play by play if somebody asked. He watched like a hawk and wanted to be just like his dad when he finished school. He was already the seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts and had been for the last year. From the very beginning of the game, he'd been up against the wall, arms on the ledge and eyes focused on the game. Her second child and only daughter, ten year old Maisie, was attached to the hip with Alex and so she too was up on her tip toes, watching the game and turning her attention to her older brother on and off. He was her favorite person, besides her dad.

She was a daddy's girl, had been from the day she was born. She snuggled right up into the crook of his arm and woke up to wail whenever he tried to put her down. Alex was the opposite, though he loved and admired his dad, he came to his mom first for most things. He still snuggled up to her when he was upset and she'd stroke his hair and wait for him to spill the most recent 'worst day of his life' as he seemed to have many since becoming a teenager. Jayden was very mellow and didn't lean toward either parent, so much as simply found comfort in all of his family. He didn't much like strangers and often waddled his way over to someone he knew, hiding behind their legs or asking to be picked up rather than have to put up with strangers cooing and patting him adoringly.

She'd been lucky in life. After the war was won by the good people who came together to support Harry, she finished out her last year at Hogwarts and then put together her own business plan to open up a multi-tasking assistance area. Anything anybody needed, she could likely do, and so she bartered out her employ for whatever needed being done. It was a great job to keep her on her toes and learn about all sorts of different Wizarding businesses.

It was through her job that she met her future husband. His coach wanted her to come in to teach the team better communication skills. There was a wide branch of teammates and despite the war being over, speculation on alliances still ran high. Former Gryffindors refused to trust anyone who used to be a Slytherin, and Hermione was called in to diffuse the situation. She quickly became well acquainted with the interesting Puddlemere team. The men were all of very different backgrounds and personalities and she could see why they were bumping heads. They were segregated into Slytherins, other Hogwarts houses, and players from outside of Hogwarts entirely. Through bonding techniques and a lot of mediation, she got the team on level ground and they quickly learned to lean on each other and get past discriminations. Somewhere near the end of training them, she was asked out on a date by the team's captain and accepted.

She was shockingly pleased to find herself enjoying their date. He was funny and charming and quite intelligent. He relied on Quidditch for a lot of topic starters, but she managed to sway his attention away from the game to other things and he was fun to talk to. Things progressed quickly and she found herself falling in love quickly. Her friends were shocked to see her dating a Quidditch player, especially since he happened to be completely obsessed with the game while she wasn't all that interested in it. But opposites attract and they fit together wonderfully. Physically and intellectually, he stimulated her.

They married after three years of dating, despite Rita Skeeter's constant scandalous write ups on them having relationship problems. They had their fights, all couples do, but they were stable. Their wedding was held in Scotland , where he wore his traditional kilt, and Hermione had never been happier than when the minister announced they were husband and wife. Alex came along two years later, with Maisie following five years after him, and Jayden surprised them nearly three years prior. They had a nice, large home in a Wizarding community much like that of Ottery St. Catchpole and her children grew up with Harry and Ron's kids as the best of friends. They learned Quidditch early and were quick studies for both sports and school. While she still worked full time for her business, she made sure to balance it out with her home life. She didn't like the idea of having a nanny, like most of the Quidditch wives she knew. Her and her husband took an active role in their kid's lives and for that she was very grateful. They didn't grow up spoiled or ignored, but like regular children. Both Maisie and Alex went to Muggle elementary schools, of which Maisie still had a year left before she could start her first year of Hogwarts. Jayden spent every morning between his grandparents; her mum, Mrs. Weasley, and her husband's mum took an active interest in taking care of him while they worked. When Quidditch practice was put off or it was the off season, his dad took him out.

Hermione's attention was snagged as Puddlemere scored another ten points and leapt to her feet, holding Jayden carefully against her hip, and shouting her praise. She wished the game would end already though; she was on her last thread with the women around her. They were so… She sighed. They reminded her far too much of Parvati and Lavender from her Hogwarts days. The complete opposite of what she was like. She enjoyed her books and though she hadn't ever been a fan of Quidditch, she'd grown mildly fond of the game given how much her husband gabbed on about it. He could sit for hours upon hours telling her every little intricate detail of the game. And while she didn't really care to hear it (despite how much Ron and Harry told her it was very interesting) she did enjoy his enthusiasm. She had her own love for books that far outweighed that of, well, anybody. So his intense adoration for Quidditch was something she could understand and find attractive in him. Even if he did love it a little too much at times.

"And Wood stops another goal attempt by Arrow's chaseer, Bevin. That's his seventeenth save tonight. He's been flying straight and reminding us all why he's been MVP fifteen times during his twenty three year career…"

"I'm thinking of going red, what do you think?" one of the women behind her asked.

"How dark? It might make you look washed out. You have very light skin," another wife responded.

"I'm not sure. I just know that Marcus loves red hair and I was thinking it would be a nice change. A boost for the bedroom, you know?"

"Red is very passionate."

"My Jack likes dark hair," Randina, the Arrows beater's wife, put in.

"Well I'm not naturally a blonde," another said, giggling.

"Oh! Puddlemere Chaser, Tomlin, was hit hard in the shoulder by a flyaway quaffle. He's waving assistance off; he's going to keep playing!"

"How much longer do you think this game will be?" someone sighed.

Hermione didn't have to turn around. She knew that voice. It was Felicity; the woman who constantly stepped out on her own husband for various other Quidditch men. Conniving, intelligent, and far too self involved, Felicity was the number one Quidditch wife that Hermione simply couldn't stand. The others were disinteresting and obsessed with their images, but Felicity was something else entirely. She thrived on scandal and didn't shy away from the spotlight, even when it was painting her in a bad light. Still, though, her husband Jesse stayed with her. Hermione had no idea why. He was a good man; nice, intelligent, and a great Quidditch player. He wasn't the most handsome of men, though, so she supposed that might have something to do with that. Felicity was gorgeous; tall, long legs, slim body, large breasts, pin straight blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. She flirted with every man on every team, regardless of their attachment to someone else.

"Hopefully not long," a nasally voice belonging to Sara Dane replied. "I have an appointment with my stylist in forty minutes."

"Ooh, are you still working with Fabrizzio?" Cassia wondered excitedly.

"Uh, honestly, no! Gods, he was atrocious! Now I'm working with Carlo," she said, her voice lilting dreamily. "Tall, dark, drop dead gorgeous. Maybe you've heard of him. He helped dress Ginny Potter for the Seventh Annual Peace Ceremony," she said with no little arrogance.

"Oh, but Fabrizzio at least flew toward women. I hear Carlo is much more interested in Quidditch players than wives," Flint's wife, Jessica, replied snootily.

"As long as Carlo makes me look good, he can fly anywhere he wants!" Sara exclaimed before laughing; high and grating on the ears.

"The score is seventy-sixty for Puddlemere. Looks like the Arrow's are moving in to even the score…"

Hermione massaged her temple, before watching as the Puddlemere beater, Ramirez, managed to keep the Arrows from scoring. She whistled loudly, smiling as Jayden clapped his hands. "Yes! Good work, Tony!" she shouted, her eyes following the quaffle as it flew back toward the Arrows goals, narrowly missing Les Jameson's head. He grinned for the crowed as it ooh'd over the near hit.

She flinched, her fingers tightening around the bar in front of her. She noticed that Les' wife didn't move an inch, simply continuing on in her conversation with Randina about her chipped nails. Hermione jumped whenever any of the players were nearly hurt, no matter whose team they were on. Her husband had been injured more times than she could count and though it was tiresome and terribly nerve wracking she knew that it was just part of the job description. That didn't stop her from ranting and raving while she paced their living room as he groaned and grinned at her worry over him. He always bounced back; cracked ribs, broken limbs, shattered collar bones, chipped and missing teeth, smashed nose, he simply got back up, brushed himself off, and got himself fixed. By the next week, he always made it back to practice. The game's too important for downtime, he'd tell her. He absolutely hated the off season; spent most it in their backyard, training. It was why he was the best though; he worked hard at it and never let up.

"And the Snitch has been spotted by both seekers. They're going in… They're diving… This one is going to be a close one folks!" she announced exclaimed loudly for the crowd.

"Finally!" Cassia sighed, impatiently. "I have to meet my sister for tea and if I'm not there on time, she'll leave."

"I've got a nanny watching the brats all night. Marcus and I are going to celebrate all on our own!" Jessica told them, giggling.

"That's nothing to brag about," Felicity assured coolly, effectively making the rest of the women around her shift and mutter unpleasantly.

"And the Arrows score a goal, that's another ten points. Wood is looking right pissed at that one. It's tied at 70. The snitch appears to be somewhere ahead of them near the bottom and now rising!"

"Is the big party still happening at The Quaffle tonight, win or lose?" Florence wondered.

"I heard Wood say he's got his evening planned. Marcus is all mine, and it will be wonderful," Jessica said lowly. "What about you guys? Coach mentioned that he thinks it'd be smarter to have the party tomorrow night."

"Me and Les have to pick up Tracy from his mother's, then we're on our way to Romania to spend some time with his brother," she told them, sounding irritated.

"Anywhere near the dragon reserve?" Felicity wondered, interestedly. "I'd look up Charlie Weasley, if I were you. He's sure to give you an interesting time."

"Not all of us stray, Felicity! Some of our men are completely worth sticking around for."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew where this was going.

"That's a penalty on the Arrows for using a club illegally. Looks like Adams is going to keep playing though…"

"Whether or not they're good enough for you doesn't mean they aren't picking up a little tart on the side," she replied cattily.

"Gods, you haven't been with them all so don't act like you have! I know for a fact there are at least three on our team alone that won't come near you," she shouted in reply.

Felicity snorted. "And I can guarantee your husband isn't on that list, Cassia!"

Hermione heard the scraping of a chair and turned to see the crowd of women standing to watch as Cassia stepped up toward Felicity menacingly. She wasn't going to intervene unless wands were drawn. There was no way she'd allow these trollops to put her kids in danger. More than likely though, it would end up like all other spats. Some name calling, a little cursing, and if it got serious, hair pulling.

"Tony is mine. Maybe he strayed for a night but you should remember that he left right after and came back to me. He always does. You're just a distraction. Someone the men feel sorry for and enjoy using for a night. You're worthless Felicity. Might as well face it already."

"Settle down, ladies," a Scottish burr called out.

Hermione turned to see Olivia Wood, Oliver's younger sister step up between them. She sighed in relief, briefly wondering where she'd been all that time. She usually sat with Hermione to stave off the frustration the Quidditch wives caused her. Then again, she had been flirting with one of the guards earlier and Olivia was known for brash, forward behavior. She probably spent the entire game chatting him up and distracting him from his job.

"No point in gettin' worked up. Game's almost over an' we won' 'ave t' see each other fer another few months. Cheers, yeah?"

Cassia snorted. "There's one right there. Wood wouldn't touch you with a ten foot broom stick."

Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, long nails tapping against her arms.

"Can't deny it, can you?" she wondered, scathingly. "I've seen you at the parties. You try and hang off him, try and get his attention, but he's not having any of it."

"Oi, yeh been goin' after me brother?" Olivia asked, angrily. She stepped up, her expression fierce. "Nasty little trollop," she said, adding a few curse words that Hermione sighed at in exasperation.

Felicity ignored her, however, keeping her attention on Cassia. "What would you know? I could have him if I wanted him! He's not my type!" she spat.

Cassia laughed, as did most of the others. "Oh Merlin! Really? He's the best Quidditch player in the league, captain of the top team, tall, blonde, blue eyed, and completely charming!" She threw her hands up. "What more could you want in a man?"

"He's also been married a couple decades, has three runts, and his only topic in conversation is Quidditch! I imagine his dirty talking is just stimulating," she replied, sneering.

"Well you'll never find out, will you?" Hermione stepped in, lifting a brow.

Felicity stood a little taller, her expression becoming blank. She adamantly avoided looking anywhere in Hermione's direction.

"What you've done and who you've been with is nothing to brag about. We're supposed to be here to support our husbands. Maybe you can pull that abnormally large stick out of your arse and support Jesse for once. In fact," she said, turning to stare superiorly at the rest of the women, "Maybe all of you could show a little interest in the game. It matters to them hence it should matter to you. If you're quite done discussing hair, clothing, and infidelity, I'd like to see the end of the game."

When nobody replied, she turned her back and walked back to the bar, only to see Oliver save another shot. Nearly in the center of the stadium, Puddlemere seeker Phillip Cors and Arrows seeker, Cory Treblock were spiralling upwards toward the glittering gold speck in the distance. She watched as Philip's hand clasped around the illusive snitch and the crowd went wild as the announcer yelled, "AND PUDDLEMERE WINS THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!"

"Yes!" she heard Alex shout, jumping up and down and pumping his fists in the air. Maisie follow along with him, smiling up at him and then back at her father who was pumping his arm in the air as he hovered near the goal posts.

Hermione nodded her head excitedly, smiling as Jayden clapped his hands. "Yay da'!" he said, looking up at his mum, who kissed his forward and replied, "That's right. Yay dad!"

At her side, Olivia was clapping and hollering loudly, "Yes! Yes! GO PUDDLEMERE! YES!" she screamed for her brother, throwing her fist up in the air.


Hermione hooted and hollered, grinning at Alex as he clapped his hands above his head. "Did you see that?" he asked her, over and over. "He won! Did you see it? It was awesome. Wasn't it?" Alex took Jayden from her arms and bounced him up and down, excitedly. "Did you see it, Jay, huh? Awesome!"

"Awesome," she replied agreeably.

"I saw it too!" Maisie told him, nodding.

The team did a lap around the stadium, waving and shaking their fists in victory. As they approached the main box, the appropriate wives came to stand along the edge to congratulate them. Oliver was at the head of the pack and came to an abrupt stop on his broom as his younger sister's arms wrapped around his neck tightly and shook him. "Good on yeh, Ollie!" she told him proudly.

"Thanks Liv," he replied, grinning widely. "We could'a done better though."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes. "You won!" she reminded. "No questioning it, accept it! You, Oliver Wood, played a spectacular game and won!"

She loved the dimples in his cheeks as his grin grew. He reached out for her, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her closer. "Yeh're just flatterin' me t' get meh in yer bed," he teased, his hands threading in her thick hair.

She laughed, fingers curling around the back of his dirty and sweaty jersey tightly. "Is it working?"

"It always does," he replied, leaning back from her just enough for him to see her face. "I'm thinkin' we can put this trophy in the main room. Big podium with a glass case 'round it."

"Would you like a velvet rope around it too?" she replied, lifting her brow.

He tugged her hair lightly, chuckling.

She smiled warmly, running her hand down his face. "Congratulations!"

She could see the pride swell in him.

"Dad! Lemme come for another lap around?" Alex asked, pleadingly. "Come on, please. Just one lap?"

He glanced at Hermione who hesitantly nodded and stepped back to take Jayden from his arms. Alex practically jumped over the railing, no fear at all, simply smiling at his mum as she stepped forward worriedly and watched him with wide, concerned eyes. "I'm fifteen, I'm not a little boy anymore," he'd told her a million times before. It didn't lessen the fear at all.

"I won' drop 'im," Olive promised, winking before he flew out back into the stadium and did another lap around, waving and grinning at the crowd. His son sat hollering beside him, throwing his arms up into the air. She smiled proudly as her son and husband flew to the cheering of the crowd, singing the team song with horribly out of tune voices and laughing excitedly over their win.

"Da' win," Jayden murmured against her, clapping his hands and snuggling into her shoulder.

She smiled, running her hand over his soft blondie-brown hair.

Olivia and Maisie were dancing around and singing the team song as well, with much better voices mind you, and ignoring the disdainful looks the other Quidditch wives were passing them. She watched with wide eyes as Jesse dragged Felicity onto his broom in his enthusiasm and flew around in circles above. She was surprised to see the usually cold woman blushing and holding tightly to her husband as he raucously shouted his glee. The box around her emptied out and slowly the viewers stood from their stadium seats and began leaving. She was lucky enough to be able to go through the back way to avoid the crowds. Her, Jayden, Maisie and Olivia made their way down to the hall outside the locker room and waited for Oliver and Alex to come out.

Later that night, they went out for a celebratory dinner before returning home for a small gathering between their friends and family. Harry, Ron and their families came along, handing out butterbeers to children and filling shots of Firewhiskey for the adults to cheer to. As the night went on, the children were sent to bed, and the adults hung around to discuss the game and simply catch up. Hermione and Oliver escaped from the mini-party to sit on their porch together, gently swaying in the bench swing.

She sat up against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. Soon, Alex would be returning to Hogwarts and Maisie would be starting grade five at the same Muggle school Hermione had attended as a child. Some days, she couldn't quite wrap her head around how her life had changed. She'd been nineteen and fresh from her last year of Hogwarts, having spent a large portion of her life working to keep herself and her friends alive, when she met Oliver Wood again. He'd swept her off her feet with his charming accent and the warm embrace of his arms around her. She'd never imagined herself with the Quidditch obsessed man and yet during the entire time she helped work out the differences in her team, she couldn't help but admit that he was quite handsome. Blondie-brown hair, green eyes, stocky body that rather reminded her of Charlie Weasley, but leaner. Large, calloused hands that felt oddly comforting around hers. And a crooked grin that made her stomach flutter every time he turned it her way. He took notes when she was talking to the team; that was what she first noticed. He was so adamant that his team work perfectly and in control that he took every word she said very seriously and executed her plan to the very last detail.

"Did they drive yeh mental?" he wondered and she didn't have to pause to consider what he might mean.

Quidditch wives. She shuddered.

"They always do," she replied, sighing lightly.

She knew he was grinning. He found her irritation with them humorous. "They're jus' no' like yeh."

She snorted. She knew that. "They're self centered hags. Honestly, the guys deserve much better. Well, maybe not Marcus. He and Jessica deserve each other. Flint ," she said, spitting his name like a curse word. "Honestly, I was rallying for them to shut up so I could watch the game. How often does that happen? Hm? I'd rather listen to Ron explain the Wonky Feint thing a hundred times then listen to them prattle on. 'Oh, I'm charming my hair red.' 'But you're so pale.' 'I'll just magically tan myself, of course'," she mimicked, wrinkling her nose. "It's a wonder their faces don't just fall off with all the glamour charms they put on to keep the wrinkles hidden." She huffed, her hand running up and down his stomach, stroking him over his shirt. "Frankly, I'm glad the off season is here. I don't think I could handle another game." She lifted her head, staring at him earnestly. "Don't get me wrong. I'm so very proud of you and your win, but really, there's only so much a person can take."

He ran his hand over her hair; fingertips running down the side of her face as she leaned it back down on his shoulder and sighed. "I was a lucky one. I didn' get caught up like the others did. I fell fer a woman o' substance," he told her, rubbing her back slowly. "Beautiful, intelligent, an' self sufficient."

She turned her head, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "Just what are you trying to flatter me for, Mr. Wood?"

He smirked, turning slightly to kiss the end of her nose. "Nothin'. Just remindin' you why you're above their trivial lifestyles. Bet you won' miss it."

"Of course I won't. I—" She paused, her brow furrowing. "Why would I miss it? You'll be back on the pitch in a few months."

He shook his head, smiling rather sadly. "Not goin' back," he said simply.

"But… But… What!?" she half shouted, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes. "Ollie, you love Quidditch. You've been playing since you were just a little boy. You- You can't just quit!"

"I didn'," he said, shaking his head. "I'm forty-two, love. I'm too old for this game. Higher ups think it's time t' go with someone younger. I had the choice o' staying on as second string keeper or retirin' and there was no way I was goin' out like tha'." He shook his head.

"They can't do that! That's- It's ridiculous! You're the best keeper in the league. You just won the World Cup for bloody sakes. What are they thinking?" She jumped off the bench and began pacing. "We can appeal this! Public outcry will change their mind! They can't just… UGH!" Her hands fisted and she waved them around in her huff, muttering obscenities under her breath. She couldn't believe they were forcing him into retirement. "Too old, my arse! Half of those newbie players have no idea what dedication or hard work is and they think they can replace you with one of those- those pathetic little freshman?!"

He was half-smiling, leaning forward and bracing himself with his elbows on his knees. "Mione…"

She barely heard him, too incensed. "You've been the captain of that team for two decades and they think they can just retire you?! They hand picked you right out of Hogwarts. You're the best captain they've ever had. They've never had so many World Cup wins! Oh this just… This just… I'm going to march right down there tomorrow and tell Coach that he has something lodged in his arse if he thinks we're just going to take this!"

"Mione," he tried again, still watching her with a slight smile.

"Why are you so calm? This is your game, Ollie. Your game! You thrive on Quidditch," she said, turning to him, feeling her shoulders tense and her chest heave with her anger. She couldn't imagine how he must be feeling. He was only just over forty, it was wrong to think he was too old to play. Especially since wizards live longer than Muggles. He was still fit and able when it came to Quidditch. He wasn't slow or less proficient than any other player in the league. Had the Quidditch officials gone mental?

"I'm fine," he said, leaning back in the swing.

"Fine," she repeated, lifting a brow. "You're fine?"

He nodded, his expression rather serene.

"You are not fine, Oliver Wood," she replied hotly, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at him.

He sighed, shrugging slightly. "All right. Fine migh' not 'a been the bes' word."

She let out a heavy breath, her anger evaporating and sincere sympathy filling her. She walked over to him, sitting in his lap, legs curled on either side of his thighs. Her hands found his shoulder, thumbs flicking to graze his neck lightly. "You're upset, probably even feeling somewhat betrayed and lost, aren't you?" She stared at him, her brown eyes probing his blue-green.

He turned away, his mouth pinching. He shrugged in answer, clearing his throat; that was as close to him admitting to it she was going to get.

Her hands slid up his shoulders, palms curving around his neck, fingers feeling the hair at the back of his neck. "You deserve better than this. You're better than retirement. You have decades left in this game, Ollie." She never imagined she'd ever be talking him into playing more or longer, but she was. This was his life. He loved Quidditch; it only came second to his family.

"Least yeh won' have t' deal with those snobs anymore though, yeah?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

She sighed, her fingers finding his chin and turning his face toward her. She pressed her forehead against his. "I'll put up with them. I'll- I'll get along with them even. I'll do my hair, fake I have a stylist and tell them he's the best in the business, you know, just to get in on their squabbling. I won't actually have one," she said, her eyes widening. "What's the logical reasoning behind paying somebody else to dress you? I know how to dress myself, thank you very much."

He grinned, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Right. Yeh dress yerself and I'll undress yeh. Don' need anybody else."

She rolled her eyes. "My point is, there are other teams, Oliver. Quidditch wives or not, I can deal with them. I just want you to be happy."

He sighed, hands squeezing her hips lightly. His head fell back slightly, leaning against their house. She knew what he must be thinking. What would he do during his retirement? He was too young; there was a lot left in him. His work had been his life for so long. Becoming a Quidditch pro had been his dream since he was just a little boy. She'd seen the glint of happiness in his eye whenever he played or watched Quidditch. She could practically feel the pride in him when his team won. Quidditch was in his blood and she couldn't imagine him ever giving it up. She could do without the long descriptions of games she'd seen, or the play-by-play he gave for everyone of their son's games at Hogwarts. She could live without the constant Quidditch chatter he, Ron, Harry, and the rest of the Weasley boys got in on; new plays, old games, favorite players. And more than all of that, she could happily forget every single Quidditch wife she'd ever met. But she couldn't stand by as that spark faded from his eyes or that enjoyment he got out of the game dwindled away entirely.

"Nobody's gonna hire me, love. Word'll get out why Puddlemere dropped meh, especially after a big Cup win and the others are gonna think I'm damaged goods," he said, running his hands soothingly up her back.

She mentally went through their options, trying to find some way to fix this. She simply wouldn't allow it to happen. "You could coach," she proposed, nodding. "You'd be a wonderful coach, Oliver."

His hands slowed on her back. "The teams have their coaches. There are no retirements besides mine this year."

"Make your own team," she blurted out, lifting her head and sitting back on his lap. Her brow furrowed; it could work. She thought it through for a moment. It was a wonderful idea. "Start your own Quidditch team, Oliver. Your pick for players, be one yourself if you want to. It's up to you. But you could do it."

His mouth thinned and his brow knotted. "A new team hasn' been made since 1612," he told her.

"Well that doesn't mean another can't be made, it just mean it hasn't," she told him, shaking her head. "Three centuries later, you can be the man to make a new team; a better team than all the others out there. You have the ability Oliver." She stared at him, eyes wide and honest. "You deserve this. Nobody works harder at this game than you."

His jaw tightened and his face became pensive as he furrowed his brow and stared downward thoughtfully. She sat anxiously, hands threaded in his hair rather tightly. She was barely holding her patience. She watched him through hopeful eyes, taking in his demeanor. He was leaning back comfortably, arms around her, hands pressing against her back. She remembered when they first got the house and they spent hours laying on the exact same swing, simply relishing in the fact that it was all theirs and it would be for decades to come. That it was their home; to live and grow old in, to raise a family in. He'd played an uncountable amount of Quidditch games with Harry and the Weasley boys in the back field. He'd taught Maisie and Alex how to fly and play his favorite game in the same field. Alex had been his father's biggest fan from day one. He had a Puddlemere jersey magicked against his wall and, just like his father, his favorite topic of conversation was Quidditch and everything related. It was such a huge part of their lives and she couldn't imagine it ever ending.

"Yeh'd have t' deal with a whole new set o' Quidditch wives," he reminded, his voice quiet but ringing with obvious excitement.

She grinned. "I can handle them," she assured.

"It's going t' take a lot o' work if I want t' get it up and goin' by the start o' next season," he told her, brow already furrowing with planning. "I should start recruitin' immediately. Trainin' is goin' t' be tough. Only have a few months t' get 'em in shape."

"I'm sure you can get them ready."

He looked up at her, his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smile of his. "Yeh're sure yeh're ready fer this?" He stared at her questioningly. "It's gonna take a lotta work. I'll be moody an' frustrated constantly."

"No different then right before a big game then, eh?" she replied cheekily.

He laughed lightly, nodding, before he became rather serious. "Yeh're not the most Quidditch obsessed woman I know, Mione. This is a huge project. A life long commitment."

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "I know. It should be."

She brushed her nose over his before pressing her lips against his, slow and passionate. He leaned into her, his hands sliding up her back, one of them clasping her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. She ran her tongue along the seam of his mouth, slipping it in as he opened his lips to her. He tasted faintly of Firewhiskey and butterbeer; hot and spicy. Her body pressed into his; her breasts against his hard chest. One of his hands fell down her spine, pressing into the small of her back, drawing her lower half closer to him. Her thighs burned with the ache of pressure placed on them, but she ignored it. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and she whimpered against his mouth. The cool night air skittered across her back as he smoothed her shirt up slowly, his calloused palm dragging across her skin, spreading gooseflesh in its wake.

They'd shagged on this very swing the first night they moved into their new house. After hearing the strain of the chains holding it to the roof, they agreed not to do it again. There were a few times on the porch, however, when snogging got out of hand. He was talented at taking her mind away from everything but him. Like the fact that there was still a party going on in their living room as he slid his hands beneath her top, popping the clasp on her bra and smoothing his hands around to the front to cup her breasts, massaging the centers slowly as he kissed her deeply. Her hands slid down his neck, splaying out over his shoulders, squeezing them tightly. She could feel the muscles beneath her fingers flex and tighten. While she didn't care for Quidditch, she loved the training involved that left her husband as taut and toned as he was. She tugged at the collar of his shirt, wanting to simply tear it off of him, but instead slid her hands beneath to touch his firm, warm skin.

Their mouths broke apart as air became a necessity, but he trailed hot kisses across her cheek and down her neck, nibbling at her lightly and laving at each bite with his tongue. She dragged her teeth along her lower lip, her eyes closed as she melted against his mouth. His hands felt so good, his mouth so incredible, his body so hard and warm against her own. She moaned his name and rotated her hips down against him, smirking as he hissed against her shoulder. The swing swayed back and forth beneath them and her hand reached out to press against the window showing the dining room, trying to brace them. One of his hands broke away from her front, sliding down her side and finding the waist of her pants, curling around and tugging it. Things were quickly progressing and the logical voice in her head told her it wasn't the best place for it all to happen, but his fingers felt so good around her breast and his teeth grazing her clavicles made her shiver. Her eyes fluttered, hips gyrating once more, down against the persistent hardness he lifted to press between the juncture of her shaking thighs.

"Oliver," she breathed against his neck, mouth caressing his skin.

There was sudden banging against the window behind them and Hermione's eyes shot open to glare at Ron who was waving and snickering. "Oi, love birds, quite the show you're givin' us."

She flushed, clearing her throat and pulling back from Oliver slightly. He stopped her for only a moment, deftly putting her bra back together and smoothing her shirt down her back. "Eh Weasley, you interested in helping me put together a new pro Quidditch team?" he asked, lifting a brow as he leaned his head back to look at their mutual friend questioningly.

"Bloody hell! Are you serious?" he asked, eyes bulging. "Harry!" he shouted, turning slightly. "Com'ere. You'll never guess what Ollie's doin'!" He soon walked away in search of his friend to give him the news.

Hermione smiled lightly, shaking her head and looking down at Oliver. "This place is going to be a zoo for the next few months."

He grinned crookedly.

"You can't wait, can you?" she asked, lifting a brow and shaking her head.

"It's goin' t' be fantastic, love." He stroked her sides lightly, staring up at her with soft eyes. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything," she replied, hands falling to squeeze his forearms.

"Yeh've done a lot," he countered. "Hell, you're agreeing t' more Quidditch wives fer me. What more could I ask yeh fer?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Those prissy little hags have no idea who they're dealing with. I'm laying down the law. I'm the coach's wife, after all," she said, smirking.

"So very diabolical," he teased.

She leaned forward, resting her arms around his neck and on his shoulders. "What say we get rid of this drunken lot and go celebrate your win and new job on our own?" she hinted, her voice falling to a low, husky tone. She could see the way his face seemed to change; taking on a lustful twist. His grin became a smirk; his eyes lowered slightly, his whole appearance seemed to radiate sex. She felt a little breathless sitting there in his lap, despite the fact that she'd been with him nearly twenty years. He still had that affect on her and she couldn't be happier about it. Her hands slid into his hair, holding tight to it. Before she could even retort to being man handled, he stood up from the bench, holding her against him. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked them inside.

"Party's over, you lot. Get yer drunk arses outta me home!" he shouted to them, walking toward the stairs leading up to their bedroom.

She heard the snickering but could care less. She'd put up with every Quidditch wife there was every single if she got to have Oliver every night. Sensual, raw, Oliver Wood. Quidditch player, soon to be coach, extraordinaire.

New opportunities were on the horizon, but she'd be there to share in them for decades to come. Until he couldn't even see the game played before him; eyes too dull and hearing too diluted with age. If she still had her sight, she'd explain them to him. And if she didn't, then she'd simply listen to him chatter on about the many games of his past. Games he played, captained, coached. Happily. Hermione Wood may not love Quidditch or the wives that came with it, but she certainly loved her Quidditch obsessed husband. From his lean, muscled body, to his seven-time broken nose (damn quaffles!), to his thirteen-time shattered ribs, down to his twice-fractured legs, his thrice-dislocated shoulders, and his eight formerly missing teeth. She was in for the long haul, injuries and snotty Quidditch wives included.


A/N Hope you enjoyed this. Had a lot of fun writing it. There's going to be a sequel to it a little later, if you're interested. Oliver was a really great character to write; very interesting.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review; it's greatly appreciated.
Much Love,