One. Last. Time. {Oliver Wood}

I love...

Oliver's POV

November 10, 1991

The deep red of his Quidditch Captain's pin gleamed off Oliver's black robes. He laid a finger on the cool silver metal and smiled to himself. He was proud. Maybe a little too proud. He polished the thing six times just this morning.

"You should be doing your homework, not obsessing over a stupid sport." Percy called after him. He was on his bed with his nose deep in a book on something boring. The only bit of his head you could see was his flaming red hair sticking out atop his reading.

"Just you wait, Perce, one day you'll grow to love the magnificent sport that is Quidditch." Oliver replied happily.

"That day will certainly not be coming. Besides, Gryffindor hasn't beat Slytherin for years, why are you so excited to walk to your demise?" Percy asked sourly.

Oliver merely smiled at his best friend. "Because we have a new Seeker, and that new Seeker just happens to be Harry Potter. I know a star when I see one, I mean, just look at me."

Percy lowered his book from his face and without a word, shot him a cold glare. Oliver laughed and exited the room. As he walked out the door, despite his arrogant appearance, his hands felt clammy and nervous thoughts were slowly clouding his mind.

It was eight in the morning and he was going to drag his team out of bed by their feet if they weren't up by now. He went into the twin's room first; they were both dead asleep. George had his sheets tangled around his long legs and half of Fred's body was falling off the bed.

Oliver grinned mischievously, he stepped out of the room and closed the door before slamming it open again, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall sounding through the Weasley twin's room.

Fred fell out of his bed with a thud and George sat up abruptly.

"What in the fresh hell are you doing, Wood?!" Fred yelled, rubbing his head. George was slowly crawling out his bed, his eyes trained on a Dungbomb on his bedside table.

"We have a game to win! Get up or I'll do it again." Oliver replied coolly and sauntered out of the room before he could be attacked.

He planned on tormenting Harry next, but he was already walking out his own room looking as pale a sheet, his jet-black hair as messy as can be and his green eyes sleepy. Ron Weasley was trailing behind him, mumbling encouragingly to him.

"Good morning, Potter."

Harry looked up, startled, and said, "What? Yeah, hello."

"Nervous?" Oliver asked knowingly.

He looked down at his feet sheepishly, "A bit."

"Don't worry, as long as you don't get in the way of a Bludger, you should be alright."

"And if I do?"

Oliver blinked, trying not to frighten the boy any further. "Well...I suppose that's what Madam Pomfrey's here for." He smiled and walked away before he could see the terrorized look that swept over Harry's face. Horrible as it sounded, he felt exactly the same.

***

Oliver was going around making sure everyone was eating at breakfast later that morning like a mad man. He would do anything to win today's match. The good thing was that he was only called insane twice (by Fred and George), the bad thing was that he was seriously nervous. When he sat down for a moment, he noticed his hands were shaking and he jumped right back up again, unable to sit still.

"Alright team," Oliver started saying to the annoyed group of people around him who groaned at the sound of his Scottish accent. "Today, we're pl-"