𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗡 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦, oliver wood

── 𝗼𝗻𝗲. parental guidance

As of now, the Quidditch pitch sat patiently - barren and bare, waiting for their friend to trudge along the grass so that they could welcome him again.

And just thinking about stepping onto that delicate grass was making Oliver's skin tingle. He always struggled over summer, the break just did not pass quickly enough, but this year he was growing particularly impatient. It had been almost a year since he had last played in a match, after the cup had been cancelled the previous year due to the growing attacks on muggle-born students, and watching his broom lay static for eleven months had caused Oliver to grow feral.

After Gryffindor's early defeat of Slytherin in October, he had thought last year may have finally been his year, but alas, his dream was shattered before they could even reach their second game of the season.

And so, consequently, this would be the most important year of Oliver's life - his final chance to take home that victory, and if he didn't get his hands on that cup, he wasn't even sure what he would do. His fingers were twitching, just at the thought.

He had a decent chance, too - or at least he thought. The young protege, Harry Potter (though the cause of all his obstacles), was one of the finest seekers Oliver had ever seen. And the Weasley twins were solid beaters, though they were troublesome at times, that was for sure. Angelina Johnson was a force to be reckoned with, and both Katie Bell and Alicia Splinnet were certainly not to be underestimated, either.

No, it was no news to Wood that he had the strongest and fastest team in the entire school, and if the cup was decided on skillset alone, he should have been a complete shoe-in. But Oliver was also experienced enough to know that it was not that simple; Slytherin played dirty, you could never predict what trick they might have up their sleeve; Ravenclaw were clever, so their tactics were something that could never be dismissed.

And Hufflepuff? Well, Hufflepuff always had the potential to completely surprise you.

Still, he fancied his chances, and he had spent the entire summer drafting new tactics and researching alternate plays just to prove it.

This would be the most important year of Oliver Wood's life, and he was certainly not going to let anybody down.

The kettle was boiling itself on the stove, and the chimney of the tiny Wood cottage was bursting as steam bled into the August sky. The modest house was located in Pittenweem, Scotland, and Lenora Wood had chosen it because she had always favoured the peaceful solitude of the harbour. It was only a tiny fishing port, but it was all Oliver had ever called home, and he wouldn't swap it for the gauche mansions of the sacred pureblood families, even if he was offered.

It had just passed noon, and Lenora was folded over the kitchen stove preparing food for lunch. Despite having access to magic through her family, as a muggle, Lenora had always vowed to never cave in to taking the easy route. She liked to do things the old fashioned way, so that she didn't get caught up in the magic and lose a sense of her humanity along the way. And so, she never cooked with anything but her bare hands.

As she set the dining table for their meal, Lenora glanced over at her only son as he sat curled into an armchair, studying a set of papers in his hands, his brow tense and furrowed in concentration, and she sighed. He had been sitting like that all morning, and she wasn't entirely sure he had taken a moment yet to breathe.

"Douglas", the concerned mother nudged her husband and nodded towards the source of her worries.

Oliver's father - a lanky man with a sharp jawline and rectangular glasses - met his wife's eyes with an equal concern, his expression much more knowing, and he nodded at her with a sigh.