Beat Them Back (A Harry Potter Fan Fiction)

Tell That Oliver Guy He Just Made My List

So, I guess that I haven't told you why I hate that sod Oliver Wood. Well I guess it all started in first year. We were actually best mates for about ten minutes, chatting happily about our mutual love of Quidditch, up until he asked me what position I played.

You see, it's rather rare to find a girl beater who isn't actually half-bad, or headed for the HolyHead Harpies. So naturally, when I told him that I played beater, he pretty much laughed himself into a coma. Oh, but I could forgive him for that. It's not like he's the first boy to laugh at my aspirations. No, that's just one tick on the long list of reasons why I hate him.

After that, we got along well enough. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were paired together in our first year, so I saw him nearly every class. It was all fine and dandy until one day, sometime around when he voice began to crack, I reckon, he woke up and realized that he was a better-than-average looking bloke, and could use that to his advantage. Now, his days are filled with a long string of broken hearts he's ripped from the chests of every bimbo in the castle. Which is pretty gross is you ask me.

Being around someone so gorgeous it hurts? Barely bearable.

Being around someone that gorgeous who knows it? Tempting enough to make me want to strangle him.

Despite how apparent I make my distain for him, he insisted on sitting close to me in each of our NEWTs class. He even forced his way into being my potions partner, for Merlin's sake. That way, I'm subjected to listening to his sexy Scottish brogue constantly correcting everything I do.

'No McCormack, the potion isn't supposed to be smoking and toxic green' Blah blah blah.

I swear, if he says that one more time then I will forced feed him said potion. Has it maybe occurred to him that I want to do that? That I take pride in holding the school record for most exploded cauldrons, while at the same time being the only Hufflepuff in my year to be accepted into NEWTs potions?

Did I mention I go an O? Yeah, that's right. So he can shove his bloody Nimbus 1000 right up his....

Anyways, the hate I hold for Oliver Wood will burn longer than Gudrathian fire. It doesn't matter how much he bats those weirdly long eyelashes of his, or sighs my name, or tries to charm me....

Where was I? Oh yeah, Hate. I hate him. Definitely not to be confused with sexual tension, or dislike. Hate. H.A.T.E.

And what has caused this sudden rampage of emotions? How about the fact that he booked up every single practise on the Quidditch Pitch for the next two weeks? AND WE'VE ONLY BEEN AT SCHOOL FOR TWENTY MINUTES!

How in the bloody hell how did manage to get here faster than me? My first stop after getting off of the train wasn't heading to the Great Hall fo the sorting ceremony, or up to our rooms to get settled. No. It was always the Quidditch-Pitch sign-up sheet, for the last three years since I'd made Captain. I had literally sprinted to the pitch, gripping my quill so tight that I'm surprised that I didn't snap it right in half, and nearly stabbed myself in the leg with the pointy-end nearly five times in my race. I ran over to the sign-out sheet, prepared to put my team through before-dawn practises so that we can get ready for try-outs, and screamed.

Monday in the morning? Booked by Oliver Wood.

Wednesday at lunch? Booked by Oliver Wood.

Saturday after dinner? Booked by Oliver FUCKING Wood, and repeat for the next two weeks.

Screaming like a loon, I ran from the change-rooms, my pen now my weapon of choice. Screw magic. I was going to throttle him. I was going to gouge his eyes out with an ice-cream scoop. I was going to chop him up with a dull hatchet and feed him to the giant squid. And I'd position said-gauged eyes in a location from which he could watch the entire thing.