Harry Potter One Shots

Strangers (Oliver Wood)

Being a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's made me realize that time management is truly the key to success. My younger self would've scoffed at such an idea, knowing my anxious tendencies and my penchant for doing homework days in advance. Yet, people evolve, and considering the profound changes the war has brought about in me, I have learned to adapt and accept life as it comes.

As I was about to check on one of my patients, Healer Higgs halted in his tracks, accompanied by a few wizards. "Healer Creevey, representatives from Puddlemere United are here to see you."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Creevey," one of them greeted.

"How can I assist you, gentlemen? Healer Higgs, would you mind attending to this patient for me?" I requested, handing him the clipboard. He nodded in agreement and departed.

"Ms. Creevey," began one of the wizards, "We wish to employ you as the head of the Medical team for Puddlemere United. Since the season's onset, numerous players have been falling—"

"Off their brooms due to their ludicrous speeds?" I interjected.

"Exactly. We've been in touch with the leadership at St. Mungo's, seeking a healer with an impeccable track record."

"That's why you're speaking to me, I gather."

"The contract is for six months. After that, St. Mungo's will permanently assign you to our team. Please review this contract. Should there be any concerns, we're open to adjustments. We genuinely need a proficient healer to restore our players."

After a moment's contemplation, I responded, "Let's discuss the details in my office. Follow me."

Though the transition might have been abrupt, the prospect of a sizable paycheck was hard to resist. Soon after I began my tenure at Puddlemere United, I secured a private office where players often came for consultations.

As I finished up with one player, I beckoned the next. He knocked gently, entering upon my nod. As I picked up his clipboard, recognition dawned. "Good to see you again, Creevey," Wood greeted, a faint smile on his lips.

Clearing my throat, I averted my gaze, "Likewise, Wood. Let's begin the check-up. Inform me if anything feels off."

When testing his reflexes, Oliver – or Wood, as many knew him – winced slightly. "Your shoulders seem tense. They need rest, for at least a month. This sore muscle won't benefit from potions. It requires natural recovery."

"Understood, Creevey," he remarked, amusement evident in his eyes. Handing him a list of recommendations, I added, "Please, we've already known each other. Just call me Isabelle." I said, giving him a smile.  "These are your guidelines – dos and don'ts for diet and activities. For now, avoid strenuous workouts. Kindly inform the next player to come in."

As I readied for my subsequent patient, Wood lingered. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "Need anything else, Wood?"

"Why did you leave after the battle? No note. No reason. You just... vanished," his voice was heavy with unspoken emotion.

Drawing a deep breath, I murmured, "Perhaps another time, Wood." He nodded silently and left. Leaving me and my puddle of thoughts to what I've put myself into. 

Despite the team's constant practice sessions in preparation for the upcoming competition, there was undeniable improvement, and for that, they were grateful. In the midst of inventorying our resources, a knock interrupted me.

"Come in."

Wood staggered in, looking worse for wear. Setting aside the clipboard, I hastily guided him to sit on a nearby bed. "Merlin's beard, what happened to you?!" I exclaimed. Without hesitation, I waved my wand, conjuring a magical X-ray of his body. Swiftly, I summoned a skele-gro, a blood-replenishing potion, and a general healing elixir.