Disclaimer: If I were JK, I would have given Sean Biggerstaff a throne.
A/N: My semi-promised Oliver Wood story!
A/N2: Please don't lynch me for stalling Madness! I figure you all would rather wait for a good chapter than have a bunch of shitty ones. Let me know if I'm wrong, though. I could turn out a mediocre chapter faster than hell. If you love me, read?
Oliver Wood: Obsessed Quidditch Captain, very driven, slightly insane. Slightly, as in comes-this-side-short-of-suicide-after-losing-a-game. But nothing big, right? Oliver Wood: Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team his fifth, sixth, and seventh years of Hogwarts. Keeper since second year. Actually managed to deal with Fred and George Weasley.
Obsessed only begins to describe him.
It was pouring buckets outside, and never was there a more pathetic sight than the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Why? Because due to default, we had just lost our first game since Harry joined the team. And no one had seen our Captain since he demurely admitted to the ref that Hufflepuff had won.
As we left the Hospital Wing, I looked around. "Really, where is Wood?" I asked.
"Like I said, he's probably still in the locker rooms, trying to drown himself." We paused in the hallway, looking at each other.
"So," I started. "Who's gonna go get him this time?"
Everyone silently avoided each my gaze. I swore. "Why is it always me?" I demanded, shaking out my soaking wet hair, which only managed to tangle around my face. I brushed it away and glared at my friends.
Fred and George smiled easily. "Because he loves you oh so much, Bell," Fred assured me. I groaned.
"I mean, if Fred and I went down there to get him, he'd probably hex us into the next century."
"Just because we're not as pretty as you are," Fred continued.
George snorted. "Speak for yourself, mate. I, however—"
"Alright, alright!" I snapped. "Go… be warm and crap. I hate you all anyways."
Scowling, I left them behind as they chuckled, wrapping my soggy robes tightly around myself as I exited the castle and made my way to the Quidditch Pitch, muttering all sorts of profanities and complaints about my mad captain-slash-best friend as the icy rain drenched me. By the time I got to the locker rooms, I was shivering fiercely.
Sometimes I hate that boy.
"Oliver?" I called uncertainly. No one answered. A quick look around told me that the locker rooms were empty. "There is no way he went back up to the castle," I said to myself as I left. "Where on earth did the prat go? He'd better be alive, because when I find him, I'm gonna kill him."
I stood on the side of pitch for a long moment, trying to see past the heavy rain that was pounding down, stinging and freezing where it hit my skin. There, leaning against the Gryffindor hoops, was Oliver Wood, and he had likely been there since the match had ended, and no one had noticed. The string of profanities started all over again as I stepped out onto the pitch, which was ankle-deep in cold water. When I got to the hoops, I found my Captain with a Quaffle in his hands, leaning against the post with his knees propped up, unmoving.
His lips were a startling shade of blue.
"Oliver Alban Wood!" I snapped. "Where is your sense?" He didn't move. "Oliver?" He was still. "Ol?" My voice was frightened now, and I knelt down next to him, touching his shoulder. He looked at me blearily.
"Kates?" his voice was rusty.
My heart pounded with relief. "Oliver, what the hell are you doing—trying to kill yourself?"
He closed his eyes again. "Go away."
"He's fine. His broom, however, is toast." He groaned. "Come inside, genius, before we both get hypothermia," I demanded. "It's like Chinese Water Torture out here."
"I can't face them, Katie," he insisted, opening his eyes again. He looked at me urgently. "Don't you understand? I failed them—I failed you."
I felt my legs going numb from kneeling in the water. I could only imagine how he felt. "It's not the end of the world, and it is most certainly not your fault. You're the most brilliant Captain there is, Wood. We've just hit some rotten luck over the years. We'll fix this, though. There's still a chance."
"Yeah, a snowball's chance in hell, maybe."
I lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, which was startlingly icy, even against my frozen skin. "Oliver," I said gently. He glumly looked up at me. "Oliver, we need you. We can't win this without you. You are our Captain, and a damn good one at that. I'm not giving up on you, so don't you dare give up on the team. It's Hufflepuff, for Godsake, and it's just a margin of points. You know us, Ol—we'll work our butts off to put that cup in our Captain's hands, complaining the whole way. Now seriously, come inside before we both freeze to death."
I stood slowly and offered my hand to Oliver. He pulled off his sodden gloves and gave me his bare hand. With my help, he stiffly rose. I wrapped an arm around his waist and slung his arm over my shoulders and helped him hobble up to the castle. Thank god for Quidditch muscles. We left a river of water behind us as we limped up to the Common Room.
Inside the Common Room, we found the rest of the team. They all looked startled to see how disheveled we were.
"You're both blue!" Alicia gasped.
I made a face. "You're telling me."
"Guys," Oliver rasped. "I—"
"Shut up, Oliver," I interrupted my best friend bossily. "No one wants to hear your apologies. Fred, George, could you take this prat up to his dorm and pester him until he's had a hot shower and is wearing dry clothes?"
The twins exchanged glances. "Yes, mother," they chorused.
"Actually, wait a sec. COLLIN!" Little Collin Creevey dashed down the stairs, camera in hand.
"Collin, can you do me a favor and take a picture of Oliver and I real quick?"
"S-sure!" he replied enthusiastically.
"Katie," Oliver protested.
"Nuh-uh. I am going to save this picture forever, to remind you of what a dipshit you can be sometimes. Now smile pretty for the camera and then you can go."
Once the boys were gone, I stripped my robes so I was left in my soaked tank top and shorts. I moved to stand by the fire.
"What happened?" Angelina asked.
"Our insane Captain was sitting in the rain, on the damn pitch, which was ankle deep in water. He said he 'couldn't face us.' I swear to God, that boy is going to be the death of us!"
Angelina and Alicia exchanged a glance. "Ya know, Katie, I don't think I'm going to claim him."
"Neither am I," Alicia conceded. "I guess that makes him your problem."
I rolled my eyes. "Great, just what I need, a five-foot-eleven two year old who doesn't even have the sense to come in out of the rain."
Angelina raised an eyebrow. "Neither do you."
"Oi! You all sent me back out into the rain to fetch him! Next time you get to go!" I protested. My two girlfriends snickered. I stuck my tongue out at them, then looked down at myself. "Why am I still wearing my wrist guards?"
Alicia coughed delicately. "Katie, go take a shower. You're still blue."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "I want to wait and make sure Oliver's okay."
"He's fine," Alicia assured me. "Go take a shower, put on something warm and flannel, then come back down. He'll be back out here by then, and you can look over every inch of his gorgeous Scottish body to make sure he's okay." Her voice was thick with implications, but I wasn't paying attention.
"Okay," I said vaguely, my mind elsewhere. I picked up my dripping robes and wandered upstairs.
When I returned, Oliver was sitting on a couch, staring into the fire with a troubled expression on his face. I impishly draped myself across his lap, looking up at him. He looked down at me with his chocolate eyes.
"Thank you, Katie."
I grinned. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't drag inside when you don't have the sense to come in out of the rain?"
He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, idly running his fingers though my wet hair. "What would I do without you?" he mused.
"You'd be missing one very hot friend," I teased, trying to lighten his mood. It worked.
"That's very true," he said, looking back down at me. His eyes laughed, which I knew was a good sign. "But then, what would you do without me?"
I pretended to consider this. "Well, I'd probably get a lot more sleep without all of those dawn practices."
He laughed this time. "Then I bet you just can't wait until I graduate."
Behind the joke, I could see a sadness in his eyes. I understood. No one wants to leave Hogwarts—it's like home. It is home, actually. I would live here forever, if I could. "I don't know, I might miss your mad captaining," I told him.
He grinned. "What, you're not going to take up that legacy for me?"
I laughed outright. "Please, when you graduate, of course Angelina's going to be Captain, and Harry after her. I don't want to be Captain."
"Why not?" he asked curiously.
"Because I see how loony it's driven you!"
"Very funny, Bell. Really, though. You should try out. I'll put a good word in with McGonagall for you."
I shook my head. "Really, Oliver, I'm not kidding. I just want to play. I don't want to have to worry about what everyone else is doing."
"What about all those times you've helped me with plays?" he wanted to know.
I gave a half-shrug, still lying down. "I like coming up with plays and everything, but I personally believe that only Keepers should be Captains."
"And why is that?" he asked, giving a half-smile.
"Well, it makes the most sense. A Captain has to watch his team at all times, right?" I knew that one—Oliver was always complaining about having to watch all of us at once on the field.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Well, the Seeker should only have eyes for the Snitch—that's how games get won. Beaters should be focused only on the Bludgers, or someone would get hurt. Chasers should keep their eyes just on the Quaffle and the other Chasers. The Keeper, however, is at a perfect vantage point to keep tabs on everyone. See my reasoning?"
"Good point," he mused. "I wonder if that's why McGonagall made me Captain…"
"No, Ol. She made you Captain because you're the most amazing and dedicated Quidditch player this school has ever seen, and the moment you set foot outside Hogwarts, you're going to get drafted by some professional team."
He rolled his eyes. "Katie, no one gets drafted right out of school."
I raised my eyebrows. "Did I not just mention that you're the most amazing and dedicated Quidditch player this school has ever seen?"
He sighed. "Do you ever think about what's going to happen when you're a seventh year?"
I grimaced. "I prefer not to think about that. I mean, you'll all be gone. You, Angelina, Alicia, Fred and George, Lee. I'll be all alone here, just because I'm a few years younger. It bites."
"Yes, sometimes it does pay to be older and superior."
I snorted. "Oliver, I just dragged you in from the freezing rain. Do you really want to talk about superior?"
"Um, where did everyone go?" he asked.
I blinked, coming back into reality. "You know, I haven't seen anyone since we came downstairs."
"Yes, weird," I agreed suspiciously. Something about examining Oliver's gorgeous Scottish body registered in my mind. My friends are so weird. "Will you help me with my Herbology?"
Oliver had ordered the entire team to go to sleep hours ago. Only Harry obeyed, but he's probably lying in his dorm, as awake as the rest of us.
Alicia was pacing in quick circles that would make any normal girl dizzy in a heartbeat, talking in a rapid and high pitched voice about all sorts of school gossip, likely repeating herself over and over, but none of us could tell what she was saying anyway. If that were me, my voice would have run hoarse ages ago, but that's Alicia for you.
Angelina had a book open on her lap and was staring at it, her eyes not moving. She was the stoic one of us, always trying to be normal when the rest of us had shot appearances to shit. But we all know that deep, deep down, she's as loony as the rest of this. Probably.
Fred and George were playing Exploding Snap, but they were obviously as wrecked as the rest of us, because they couldn't seem to make it past two cards, and their robes were quite singed. Besides that, we had all grown so used to the sounds of explosions that we no longer jumped, even though we were all completely on edge.
Oliver, poor boy, was sitting on the floor in front of a low coffee table. The table was spread with hundreds of plays, and he was sorting through them furiously, scratching things out and writing things in. From where I was sitting, I could hear that he was frantically mumbling to himself in his lovely Scottish voice.
And me? I'm neurotically chewing on Sugar Quills while sitting across the table from Oliver, staring at him intently. I lost count on the number of quills I'd eaten after 23, but I'm almost through with a box of them. Fortunately, I have several more handy.
I should also note that I have a habit of stripping when I'm annoyed or nervous. Right now I'm sitting in my skirt and cami, still wearing my tie, with my robes, blouse, vest, shoes, and socks piled next to me. Yes, I'm a nervous stripper.
Really, it's not usually this bad before a game, but this is the game. The last game. Oliver's last game at Hogwarts. His last chance at the Cup. Tomorrow means so much… we should really be sleeping. But really, the six of us are so entirely neurotic, I think even if we were sleeping, we'd be dreaming about doing what we're doing now.
"Oliver?" He ignored me. "Oliver!"
"Not now Katie. I just need to tweak this right here…"
I sighed and walked around the table to sit next to him, viewing the play he was looking at. I touched one of the little figures with my finger. "No, no. Switch me with Ange there, and swing Alicia wide on Ange's left. Then I can swoop down under her, faking them out, see? Ange can drop the Quaffle to me, and Alicia is in perfect place to catch it and put it through the middle hoop."
He blinked at the parchment. "Katie, you're a genius." He made the appropriate corrections, then stretched and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the rest of the team. "They're not going to sleep, are they?"
"No more than you are."
Oliver looked from the team back to the plays, then back to the team. He smiled roguishly at me. "About time we put them to use then, eh?"
I grinned wickedly as he called the team to order and began having them memorize plays.
We were all in a sort of slow motion, stunned euphoria. I landed practically on top of Oliver, who was positively crying with happiness. Everyone was screaming with delight, but I couldn't hear anything in particular; it was all a sort of background noise. Oliver laughed and caught me around my waist, swinging me in a circle.
"Katie, we did it!" he shouted. We were all pummeled fiercely on the backs by a number of excited people. "We won the Cup!"
Just then, he let go of me to accept the shining Cup, laughing maniacally. Seeing him hold it, I felt relief flood me. For all my blithe assurances, I had worried about what would happen if we didn't win the Cup. If thinking we wouldn't win it had driven him that close to the edge, I can only imagine what would happen if we didn't win it. He handed the Cup over to Harry, who looked just as staggered as the rest of us. McGonagall was practically dancing with glee and looking over at Snape triumphantly.
"You did it Oliver!" I shouted, fighting to be heard in the mayhem. I jumped into his arms, and he picked me up easily, laughing freely, his face completely lit up.
"Katie, we did it, all of us!"
The Gryffindor Common Room spent that whole damn night partying our arses off. Those of us in uniform had the best time, and not just because everyone else pampered us and begged for our personal recounts of the game time after time. No, we had the most fun because between us there was an unconquerable feeling of accomplishment. We won the Quidditch Cup. Oliver's face didn't lose the little-kid-on-Christmas-morning cast all night. Fred, George, and Lee pulled the most hilarious stunts. Over and over again, we congratulated each other, or someone would randomly shout "WE WON THE QUIDDITCH CUP!" and everyone would start cheering again, no matter how many times it happened.
"Ollie, Ollie, we won the Cup!" I laughed, falling into Oliver's lap. By now, we were all buzzed with a little more than excitement, if you know what I mean. Third years and below were long asleep, so Fred and George had broken out the Firewhiskey.
Oliver, his eyes less focused than usual, grinned at me. "I always knew we would!"
I snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "Oliver, you nearly froze yourself to death on the Quidditch Pitch, and I had to literally drag you inside."
"Oh yeah," he said, blinking. "Huh."
A very popular, upbeat song by the Weird Sisters came on, and everyone screamed in excitement. "Come on, Ol, dance with me!" I exclaimed, bouncing out of his lap and standing, offering him my hand.
Oliver took my hand and I hauled him to his feet, then we joined the massive group dancing close together in the center of the Common Room. We had pushed the furniture to the edges of the room long ago.
The song ended, and a slow one started. Most people just grabbed whoever was closest to them and relaxed in that person's arms. Oliver and I did the same, holding on to each other as our heartbeats slowed and the sweat cooled on our faces. I felt Oliver's heart slow against my chest, and I rested my forehead against his neck.
See, this is the great thing about being tall. Sure, I'm sure it's great and everything to be cutesy and small like Alicia, but I like being tall. 5'7" isn't giant, but I can take care of myself. Besides, this way I don't have to tilt my head all the way back to look up at guys. Alicia always looks so funny when she's staring up at people, and I don't have to suffer that indignity. And I can rest my head comfortably against Oliver's neck. And that was when it occurred to me that I was officially smashed.
I woke up the next morning on one of the couches in the Common Room with a terrible headache. I slowly picked myself up and vaguely realized that I was asleep on top of the one and only Oliver Wood. It wasn't like that was the first time it'd happened, though, so I wasn't too put out by it. I grimaced at the taste in my mouth and picked up Oliver's hand to read his watch. Noon. Older students were draped around the Common Room in various positions, several people situated just like Oliver and me. We've probably successfully scarred any younger students who had woken up to go down to breakfast. Once again, so much for superiority.
I glanced around to find the team and had to muffle my giggles against my arm. Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia were all lying in an uncomfortable-looking knot on the floor. Fred and George were crossed over each other, with Angelina's head pillowed on Fred's stomach and her legs under George's knees. Alicia was lying over George, with her legs tucked between the two twins. I bet they're going to have some unpleasant cramps when they wake up.
Speaking of, I looked back down at Oliver. He was stretched flat out under me, his hair messy and sticking out in every direction in a very undignified manner. I poked him.
"Oliver," I whispered. He groaned and batted at me half-heartedly. "Wake up, Wood!" I sighed. This called for drastic measures. I carefully put my finger in my mouth, then stuck it in his ear.
"YEAGHACH!" he yelled, leaping off the couch and knocking me to the floor. Messing with Oliver's ears is the one guaranteed way to wake him. And it is generally a rather violent process.
"Morning," I said cheerfully as he collapsed back on the couch, holding his head. My headache had pretty much dissipated.
"Not funny, Bell," he grumbled, looking blearily around the Common Room.
"I beg to differ." He glared at me. "Hey Ol?"
"What?" he snapped.
"We won the Quidditch Cup!"
With that, he grinned like a wolf and jumped up, catching me in his arms and swinging me around again for the hundredth time. "That we did, Bell. That we did."
When he set me down, I looked around. "So… do you think we should wake everyone up and save what's left of their pride, or let them sleep and pretend we were never part of such an undignified ordeal?"
"Um… let's pretend we were never part of such an undignified ordeal," he decided, his eyes resting on the knot that was the rest of the team. Besides Harry, of course. I followed his gaze.
"Want me to go get Collin?"
"You're diabolical, Bell."
"KATIE BELL!" came Angelina and Alicia's shrieks of fury a couple of days later.
I winked across the Common Room at Oliver, who smirked back at me. "Yes?" I asked casually as they burst in through the portrait. In evidence, they held up the photos that I had slipped in their bags that morning. "Wow, that's quite attractive, girls."
"Katie, you're behind this," Alicia fumed, her eyes narrowed.
"We'll get you," Angelina promised. And let me assure you, I have revenge-happy friends.
The next morning, pictures of me sleeping on top of Oliver were posted all over the Common Room. All I can figure is that Collin took pictures of us on his way down to breakfast. Traitor.
And yeah, sure, that's all fun and games, but of course it started rumors. Rumors about me and a certain Scottish Quidditch Captain. Someone save me.
A/N: How'd you like it? This is really just an introduction. It gets freaking hilarious, I promise. The next chapter (which I coincidentally posted!) involves cute!Cedric, revengeful/bloodthirsty!Katie, and smirking!Oliver. Love you guys!