Acquaintance - Oliver Wood/OC

Chapter 7: Sought-After

The next week I would summarize as trying to remove Oliver Wood from my life. I tried not to notice when he entered the Great Hall (but my attention always seemed to be at the door whenever he appeared there;) I tried not to go through all our conversations in my mind (the only thing it did was set my teeth further on edge,) and I tried not to pay attention to how sloppily he dressed, how sloppily he sat and what a sloppy sod he generally was.

November had now rolled around and I no longer felt as insecure on the field as I had at the beginning of the school year. It meant that I could actually have fun. I found they were the times when I seemed to be laughing the most, when I was flying with my friends.

I'd been trying to book as many practises as I could, now that I'd got a momentum going. I also found out in relation to this, that apparently one team is not allowed to book a whole week. This led to a whole thing with Madam Hooch in the Great Hall. Apparently she had found the idea of booking the pitch for that many days consistently was ridiculous. She wasn't the only one, made apparent by a group of giggling Ravenclaws. It was fine though. I knew they didn't mean anything by it and frankly, I found it rather funny myself. The thing was, I had never actually meant to book the whole week. I had booked one session, and then I'd booked another one upon realising something else I needed to try with the team. On it had gone like that until Madam Hooch had had to personally inform me of my blunder.

I spent most of my time with Graham, sitting with him during lunches and studying with him in the library. He was the Oliver antidote I figured, since he was a Slytherin I reckoned Gryffindors were likely to keep away, which was the goal.

Although at the moment I was with my housemates on the floor of our dorm room, something I was reminded of frequently, "Sometimes it's just impossible getting you to concentrate, Will!" PJ slammed her palm on the floor to get my attention. She wasn't upset. PJ never seemed to get upset with anyone. She always said that if one could truly imagine others complexly, then one could no longer find a justifiable reason to be upset with them.

"She's in her bubble again." Bianca mumbled from her bed.

"Yeah, well..." PJ mimicked the act of putting a needle through a metaphorical bubble. "There. Can we get back to the task ahead?"

With only two practises this week and plans that required seven, we had to fit all the undoable plans for this week into next weeks schedule, and even that seemed to be a stretch. Unless we put a practise early before a school day, and no one wanted that. Which meant that Wright, PJ and I were currently spread out on the floor over my confusing collection of notes for intended training sessions, trying to piece it all together.

"Sometimes you just have to compromise, Will." Wright said, quite desperate now.

"Forcing everyone out of their beds before daylight in the cold is such an Oliver thing to do, I'm not like that. I won't do it." I gathered some of the loose sheets from the floor, they all had scribbles over them that didn't seem to follow any type of pattern whatsoever. I tried best I could to order them in any way that made at least a minimal bit of sense.

"Although..." I began after a moment's thought. "If we place a practise on the Thursday morning next week, doesn't that mean that Griffith and I will have time to try out the bludger backbeat?" I asked with a regained spark of excitement.

PJ looked critical, "That move is so rarely used, Will. Putting effort on perfecting it will only derive valuable time from the really important plays. We've already got too much on our schedule." She showed me the crowded list we'd written during the evening.

Wright had taken on a strict attitude. "You just want to have a laugh with Griffith, Will. We all know how that ends — with you two mocking about, not doing anything worthwhile and distracting the rest of the team." Wright said squarely.