It always baffled Oliver that players asked for days off to rest. After all, he hadn’t been training his new Chaser that hard – only a little harder than daily practice, at best. Regardless, when the man toppled off of his broom into the snow this morning Oliver gave in. He’d been doing very well – better than expected – and Oliver supposed he could use a day to ice down and sleep the week off.

Oliver, however, almost never took a day off, and even when he did he always spent at least two hours in the gym and another on strategy. He’d been spot-training with his non-dominant left arm since before sunrise; now he could feel the sharp burn of oncoming soreness in his bicep. Noting such, he flew down and popped into a snow bank, sloppily packing snow around his left shoulder with his right hand before settling the arm behind his head. Oliver peered up at the gray sky and exhaled loudly. He fought back a shiver and mussed the snow out of his hair, sinking down into the cold despite his body’s natural reaction to leap up and head for warmer environs.

Eyes a dull and unfocused blue, Oliver thought first about Quidditch, about what he needed to do, about the goals he’d already accomplished with the new Chaser…but he soon found his thoughts drifting towards days of old. His mind jumped to a lampooning he’d had with Alicia after a game this past half of the season. He remembered it so clearly – was it really months ago?


Oliver was standing in front of his open locker, donning his other uniform: the white shirt and blue, embroidered blazer reserved for captains. His coat was still hanging on the door; he was presently struggling with his tie, which was being particularly crooked that day.

“Bloody fuckin’ tie,” he muttered to himself as he hastily untied it and began the laborious process of retying it. He hadn’t even known Alicia was there until her eye appeared in the corner of the mirror he was using. A wicked grin spread across her face as she watched her giant of a captain struggle with a particularly slippery blue tie. She opened her mouth to comment, but was met with stern words from Oliver instead.

“Not now, Spinnet,” he half-grunted as his oversized fingers fiddled with the neck of his collar. “I’m busy.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, Ollie, honest.”

“Righ’.”

“Oh, you can be so shirty sometimes, did you know that?”

Oliver sighed and turned to face Alicia, tie still completely undone. “Am not.”

“Are so.”

“No, I’m not. I’m pleasant an’ charmin’ in every way. Now, will y’fix my tie for me?”

“Well that wasn’t a pleasant and charming way of asking for a favor…”

“Will y’fix my tie for me please?”

“Merlin, don’t ask too nicely, Ollie, the world might end” Alicia quipped back at him as her hands deftly tied his tie. “There, you lug.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said as he playfully patted Alicia on top of the head. She crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose in response to the pet, which got a grin from Oliver. He slid into his blazer and turned to face Alicia again.

“How do I look? Captainly enough?”

Alicia eyed him playfully. “No wonder you’re still single.”

“Jus’ jealous,” he said as he mussed her hair, “I always knew.”

With that Oliver started off, heading for the press conference awaiting him. He stopped at the door and turned to face Alicia.

“Good game, Spinnet,” he said with a sincere smile. “…I’m almos’ proud,” he added playfully before ducking out of the door.


The image of the beaming smile she had on her face when he left the room that day stuck in Oliver’s memory. A sigh escaped his lips and he absently pressed more snow into his left arm. The feeling of the cold snow against his bare skin brought his eyes back into focus, and he took a moment to survey the pitch above him. His eyes drifted from the hoops up to the large building before him and back.

A dull pang throbbed somewhere deep in his chest. Oliver never considered himself very singular, insofar as he saw at least someone most every day, but the sight of the big, empty manor and private pitch reminded Oliver how few people really understood him, or even tried to. It was in these moments that he, Oliver D. Wood, almost felt…lonely.

“We miss you, Ali,” he proclaimed to the air. “It’ll be a month on Tuesday now. I’ll have t’come by an’ say ‘hello’.”

{SUMMARY: Oliver takes a trip down memory lane and decides to take Tuesday off.}