Oliver Wood
The crowd roars as the witches and wizards swoop to and fro, across the pitch on their broomsticks. Wild pace, blur of colors, and outlandish sideline performances all blend together in the symphony of chaos that is the Quidditch World Cup.
“AND RYDER HAS THE QUAFFLE! NO, IT’S DERRIKS! NO, IT’S RYDER AGAIN! OH! AND THE NAYGLE SISTERS COME IN WITH A BLUDGER AIMED AT THE OPPOSING CAPTAIN!” The announcer’s voice thunders over the audience, amplified by magic.
You look to your left, where Oliver has joined you and the rest of the crowd in cheering adamantly for their favorite team. “Watch the hoop! Watch the-“
“OOOOHHHHHHH!”
The buzzer rings and a point is given to the offending team.
The overhead voice shouts, “AND THAT’S ANOTHER POINT! 590-720 WITH THE OLYMPIANS IN THE LEAD! THE ATLANTEANS HAVE QUITE A LONG WAYS TO GO IF THEY WANT TO MAKE A COMEBACK IN THIS GAME.”
Half the crowd groans, lamenting the score against the professional Keeper.
“OH, WHAT’S THIS?” The intercom cuts through the noise of the crowd. “THE ATLANTEAN SEEKER APPEARS TO HAVE SPOTTED THE GOLDEN SNITCH!”
Shouting erupts from all sides of the audience. “AND SHE’S OFF! JEMMERSON MAKES A SMOOTH DIVE AFTER THE SNITCH WITH THE OLYMPIAN SEEKER RIGHT ON HER TAIL! A GOOD BIT OF PUSHING AND SHOVING; THEY’RE BRISTLE TO BRISTLE AS THEY APPROACH THE OUTER WALL! HENDELL MAKES A GRAB FOR IT-!”
The two opposing seekers crash into the edge of the pitch and tumble to the floor, raising a cloud of dirt around them. Murmurings and low voices are heard from the audience as the whole congregation holds their breath till the dust clears.
One lone seeker in teal shoots up out of the sandstorm holding aloft a golden orb the size of a golfball, with a blur of fluttering wings on either side.
Absolute chaos ensues in the form of cheers. Nobody could hear the announcer, but then, nobody needed to. The evidence was tightly gripped in the Atlantean seeker’s hand.
You turn to Oliver who is screaming along with the rest of the crowd. He takes your hand and lifts it high in victory, imitating the way the Jemmerson had with the snitch. Thrilled by the excess of adrenaline, you step in close and press your lips to his in celebration. His grip on your hand slackens only for a moment, then he scoops you up by the waist, twirling you around in the stands.
He pulls away just enough to dip close to your ear and say, “What a win.”