Chapter 17
Oliver dressed slowly the next morning. He hadn’t slept well at all. The weather outside was the total opposite of how he was feeling. His mother coming to the match later on was a dark cloud on the otherwise clear sunny day.
“Game day!” Fred yelled happily.
Lee and George joined in, chanting excitedly as they headed down to the common room. Oliver wished he could share in their excitement. Hell, on any other match he probably would. Not today, the first match of his Quidditch career. It was marred by his mother. Why was it she always managing to ruin every little good thing in Oliver’s life?
‘Is Quidditch a good thing though Oliver? After all, your mother did get you involved in it.’
“Oh shut up. Just be quiet for today at least.” Oliver grumbled to himself.
Most of his housemates were dressed up in support of the Quidditch team. Red and gold face paint, lion banners, and various other signs were being carried by students of all ages in the common room.
Oliver rushed through the common room and out the portrait hole, pretending he didn’t hear the encouraging comments from his fellow Gryffindors.
He didn’t need the extra pressure.
Oliver sat with the team once he got to the Great Hall. Charlie sat at the other end, Oliver at the other. The rest of the team was a buffer between them. Neither Oliver or Charlie tried to speak to each other. Oliver barely even looked at him. The argument from last night was still fresh in his mind. Added with the fact that his mother was coming too…Oliver needed to focus on what was important. The match.
No one seemed to notice that he was only pretending to eat breakfast, they were all caught up in strategy, their own meals, or talking among themselves. Oliver couldn’t stomach any food. His stomach was too busy eating away at itself.
“Let’s head out to the pitch. We’re going to win this!” Charlie said confidently.
Oliver cheered with the rest of the team and followed them out to the locker rooms. Once they all changed into their match robes, they met in the tunnel under the pitch. Oliver’s palms were sweating listening to the crowd above them cheer.
‘My mother’s up there somewhere.’ It was the only thought on repeat in his head.
Oliver barely heard Charlie’s motivational speech. He sat on the bench bouncing his leg anxiously. This wasn’t how he was supposed to feel before his first match. He was meant to be confident, calm, in control. He had to be. He was the bloody Keeper. If one goal gets by him…
“Oliver! We’re heading out, come on.” Alicia said cheerfully, pulling Oliver out of his thoughts.
Oliver followed the team to the gate. He stood right next to Charlie quietly.
“You got this Ollie.” Charlie murmured calmly next to him.
Before Oliver could even sputter out a reply, the gate opened and he was forced to mount his broom and fly out onto the pitch with his teammates.
The wind rushed through his hair as he flew as fast as he could to the Gryffidnor goal posts. He tried, and failed, not to look out into the stands, as if expecting to see his mother in the sea of red and green easily. Still, it was like he could sense her with his own personal locator spell. He knew she was out there somewhere.
“The Quaffle is released…and the match begins!” The announcer's voice snapped Oliver back to the match before him.
Slytherin ended up in position of the Quaffle, and one of the Chasers was headed for Oliver. He focused on the flight pattern, his eyes never leaving the Quaffle, or the player. He could do this. The Slytherin chaser threw the Quaffle directly at the right goal post.
‘Got you.’ Oliver thought confidently, flying and reaching for the Quaffle, catching it before it could pass through the post.
The crowd cheered as Oliver threw it to Katie, who sped off towards the opposite end of the pitch, dodging bludgers and Slytherin chasers alike.
Oliver grinned. He was in his element. Sure, it was only the first few minutes, but he let himself savor the feeling of being in the match. He was the Keeper, he was part of a team.
That happy thought would be the last thing he remembered.
A sharp pain smashed into his head, and Oliver’s vision blurred, before being plunged into darkness.
~~~~~~
2 Days Later…
Oliver blinked slowly, wondering when the sky had become a stone ceiling. It was still entirely too bright outside on the pitch. Really though where was the blue sky? He turned his head to the right and immediately regretted it.
His head hurt.
“What the….?” Oliver groaned.
“So, you’re awake at last.” His mother’s cold voice said from Oliver’s other side.
Oliver laid as still as possible. Why was she here? Why did everything hurt? Was this some new form of torture she had created?
“What’s happening?” Oliver croaked.
His mother stood, towering above him. “You idiot boy. What kind of Keeper doesn’t see a bludger coming at him? You cost your team the match. For goodness sake, you barely played. You were a disgrace. I don’t know why I expected anything less. Clearly, you weren’t ready to be on a tram. No, you don’t deserve to be on this team. I can’t believe I wasted my time coming to see you play Oliver-”
“He needs rest. Not…whatever it is you think you’re doing.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice interrupted his mother.
Oliver was blinking back tears, yet he wanted to laugh. No one had ever spoken to his mother like that. Well, not since Mrs. Weasley that one time.
His mother sneered at Madam Pomfrey. “Fine. I shall see myself out then.”
Without another word to Oliver or Madam Pomfrey, his mother left, not sparing Oliver a second glance.
“Thank you.” Oliver said sheepishly.
Madam Pomfrey’s gaze softened. “Of course, dear. I’m glad to see you are awake.”
Oliver hesitated before asking. “How…long was I out?”
Madam Pomfrey sighed. “It’s been two days I’m afraid. Your mother didn’t leave your side. At first I thought she was worried about you, but after scaring off your teammates and badgering me to fix you and asking when you could play again….well let’s just say I was more than glad to see her leave.”
Oliver laughed, before wincing and breaking off. “You and me both Madam Pomfrey.”
“How’s the pain?” She asked him with a smile.
“Honestly? Pretty bad. Is there anything you could do?”
“Of course dear, I’ll mix up a draught for you.” She disappeared beyond the curtain near Oliver’s bed.
Oliver continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling more like a failure than he had before the match.