Oliver Aidan Wood

[Pansy's Office, Pansy]
[Morning]

Oliver gave himself about an hour before practice to go into London to take care of something important. He'd decided the previous night that he would do this, no matter how much it hurt his pride or his bank account. With an oppressive feeling he entered the Ministry and got into the elevator heading to the Department of Games and Sports. In that office he asked the secretary and was directed to Pansy Parkinson's office. Taking a deep breath he knocked on her door, and waited.

[Practice then flat, Angie]
[Evening]

"Wood!" someone called from down below and Oliver whipped his head around and narrowly dodged a bludger. The voice called again and, after a nod of affirmation from his captain, he descended to where the team manager stood frantically waving what looked like a piece of parchment. The man looked upset and Oliver's stomach dropped- whatever it was, it couldn't be good news.

"What's up?" he asked breathlessly before his feet had fully touched the ground. The man shoved the note at him and said something vague about an emergency. The note itself, a hasty scrawl in Angie's writing, was not much clearer. It asked only that he come home as soon as possible. Broom still in hand Oliver closed his eyes and apparated with a pop, hoping there was no one in the hallway outside their flat. If worse came to worse, he could botch a memory charm. He mumbled the spells to take down the wards- never before had their safety precautions so irritated him but today he could hardly get the counter spells out fast enough. When the door finally opened he lumbered into the living room and tossed his broom aside.

"Angie!" he yelled, "Angie, what's wrong?"

[Afternoon, Angie]
[Flat]

Oliver came home from practice exhausted and angry at the Prophet and all the ribbing he'd received from the lads on his team when he'd accidentally mentioned that he recognized Angie's "secret." It wasn't very subtle but then, he allowed, neither was his own. He was more than a little bitter. Spending all morning being called "The Wedding Arsonist"- which he did not find at all clever- certainly did not help his mood. Even if some of his mates seemed to sympathize, it didn't stop their teasing. Why did Angie have to air our their issues in public? Why couldn't she just be an adult and talk to him? These were the petulant and somewhat hypocritical thoughts that buzzed in his brain as he kicked off his muddy trainers and stomped angrily around the flat.

[Leaky Cauldron, George and Harry ]
[Evening]

Oliver sat at a table, waiting for his mates and listening to a game on the wireless. The bar was a bit full tonight, which wasn't entire surprising. Even fear of Death Eaters couldn't keep blokes away from a pub and Quidditch. He'd been thinking it was about time he made a decision for the wedding and, since he couldn't choose just one best man, he'd decided to have two. He didn't care if Angie approved or not- it was only fair. Though he and George were best mates usually, Potter had always been there for him. He just hoped Potter wouldn't do anything this evening to be banned from man-nights.

[Flat, Angie]
[Afternoon]

Angie wouldn't go crazy. Oliver had been telling himself that ever since the night George had apologized. Angie was sensible. She wouldn't overspend. The mantra only worked when he was awake. When he was asleep he'd been plagued by strange dreams of debt and Angie hiring a hundred elephants for some reason at their wedding. Now he decided to actually sit down and go over their finances and, though it pained him to consider the prospect, try to make a wedding budget with her. Without the extra income from his job at the Quidditch shop, he'd been putting more of his league money into the house savings and he wondered now how much there was left for bills and frivolous expenses and wedding things. He couldn't care less what she chose to have at the wedding but, he decided, he did care what it cost.

[Ministry, George]
[Monday Morning]
Owl to George: Meet me at the Ministry please. It's sort of urgent.

Oliver stood near the fountain, waiting for George, and feeling generally foolish. The official marriage certificate was in his pocket and while he was vaguely amused he was also horrified- not at being married to George but at the thought of not being able to marry Angelina. He was actually sort of annoyed at having been married for a year without any of the legal benefits.

[Outside the Quidditch Supply Shop, Anyone]
[Afternoon]

After his shift at the shop, Oliver stepped out into the street and was glad he'd through to bring a coat and scarf today. It was a little chillier than he expected but nice enough that he did not particularly feel like returning home yet. He'd already had a very early morning practice and his shift at work had been fairly short. He tried to decide where he wanted to go and watched passerby with a vague interest.

[Flat, Anyone]
[Afternoon]

Oliver wasn't sure what to think. He was just glad Angie wasn't around when that Patronus from George arrived. His first instinct had been to go and beat George's face in, but then he convinced himself that George had sounded particularly smashed. So, he would have to wait until George was sober to beat his face in. Of course, this line of thinking degenerated to old fears and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe George was right. There was no question in his mind that if he hadn't come along Angie would have ended up with Fred. He had always believed it, even though Oliver would never admit that. George was also right to say that Oliver and Angie's relationship was screwed up. At times it really was. It got so complicated. Maybe George was right, maybe Angelina would have been better off with Fred. Oliver sighed and laid on the couch, thinking these thoughts for hours.

[Leaky Cauldron, Anyone Attn: Charlie]
[Afternoon]

Before he left practice, Oliver owled a note to Charlie asking if he could meet him in the Leaky Cauldron. He figured it might be best to invite Charlie out somewhere public so that, for one, Charlie didn't think he intended to do something stupid like get in a fight with him and, so two, Oliver was less likely to do something stupid like get in a fight with him. He wasn't exactly happy with Charlie but he didn't feel quite as angry as he thought he should (or, as he thought Angie thought he should). People made mistakes and, to be fair, he knew Charlie had been drunk at the club. Also, it was a widely known fact that Angie was smoking hot anyway, so he was trying to think of it almost as an indirect compliment on his choice of women.

[Angie's Parents' House, Angie's Parents]
[Afternoon]

Every step towards the front porch made Oliver feel like it was another step towards his execution. He had been putting this off, partly because- he told himself over and over- he <i>was</i> busy...but he'd be a bloody fool not to admit he was scared for his life. He had no idea what to expect, really, and he just hoped that if Mr. Johnson did kill him that it would be quick and painless. As he mounted the porch stairs he considered returning to London and dragging Angie to come with him. She could protect him. Maybe.
Shaking his head he banished these thoughts and his fears as best he could and, with a deep breath to steel himself, knocked soundly on the front door. As he waited, he hummed a funeral dirge under his breath.

[Flat, Anyone]
[Afternoon]

Oliver had been avoiding his flat since the Prophet had come out the day before. He had no idea what he was going to say to Angie. He also had a vague fear that her father might be waiting there to beat him. After crashing at a teammate's flat and then going to a morning practice he decided he could not stay away from home much longer. With an uncertain feeling of dread he made his way home.

[Leaky Cauldron, any bloke friends]
[Backdated to late the night before, after dinner with Angie]

Bang. "Stupid." Bang. "Stupid." Bang. "Stupid." There was a welt on Oliver's forehead and Tom was staring at him with a mystified expression.
"Son," Tom began carefully, "If you could stop hitting your head on the bar there..."
Bang. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I'll have another shot of firewhiskey." Oliver glanced up and then buried his face on his arms. Tom shuffled off with a frown and returned with Oliver's fifth shot of the evening.

[Fancy French restaurant, Angie]
[Early Evening]

"And which wine would you like, monsieur?" the server questioned as Oliver put down the glass he'd just had a taste of.
"Merlot, please," he answered and the man put the bottle on the table. When he'd gone, Oliver found himself drumming his fingers nervously on the tabletop. That morning he'd left a copy of the Prophet and a note telling Angie to meet him here for dinner. He was worried she hadn't got the note, or was still angry with him, and wouldn't show. Unconsciously he reached up to the pocket of his dinner jacket to feel if the ring was still there. His mother sent it the week before and she was terribly excited. It had taken ages to convince her not to write to Angie's parents about it. The thought crossed Oliver's mind to ask for Mr. Johnson's permission, but he'd finally decided it was better not to- Oliver was afraid he wouldn't survive that conversation. It would be best to let Angie break the good news to him. If she said yes. Merlin, he hoped she'd say yes.

[Flat, Anyone]
[Afternoon]

Oliver had spent all of his time outside of practice since Angie left lounging around the flat pretending to be a bachelor. It had been all right at first but now it was getting a bit dull. He kept cooking too much food and when it got too dirty he started cleaning up after himself- which was certainly not bachelor behavior. Worst of all he actually missed her. A lot. It was too quiet, he had no one to talk to, the bed was cold at night, and lads magazines just didn't hold the same appeal they once did. Still, he was feeling too stubborn to apologize and- even if he wanted to- he was too afraid of Mr. Johnson to dare going to talk to her. She was mad, anyway, he consoled himself. He was hardly at fault this time and she could come back and apologize in her own time. He wasn't going to make the first move.

[Flat, Angie]
[Evening]

Oliver managed to get out of practice early and went around Diagon alley in a frenzy. He picked up expensive Chinese take out, a cake from Hannah's, and all the chrysanthemum's in Britain. When he got home he cleaned the flat, put out candles, and put vases of chrysanthemums everywhere. Once he was finished it was just a matter of waiting for Angie to get home. So it wasn't Valentine's day, but at least he could give her a nice evening.

[Flat, Angie & anyone who wants to stop by]
[Morning]

Twas the morning of Christmas and all through the flat

not a creature was stirring, not even the cat.

The living room twinkled with holiday lights

The fire in the grate burnt low in the night,

Ollie and Angie lay warm in their bed,

While visions of Christmas gifts danced in their heads,

and Oliver hoping for his name on a tag,

leapt from the bed after a long winter’s shag.

Angie followed and made hot mugs of tea,

Then they settled down to the presents under the tree.

[Flat, Angie]
[Late morning]

"Right, everything's cleanish," Oliver muttered to himself. "And the extra bed's made up, sheets are clean." He did one last look around the flat and then went back to getting ready. His mother was coming to visit today and staying until the end of the week. He'd nearly forgotten and had cleaned the house at the last minute. Now he had to get ready for his meeting which had, as fate would have it, been pushed back to this morning. It meant Angie would have to be alone with his mum for an hour or so, but he wasn't too terribly worried about that. He was more worried about his meeting- either it was really really good news, or really really bad news. He finally decided it would probably be best to wear a tie and put one on, combed his hair, and waited for Angie to make an appearance.

**Backdated to Saturday**
[Locker room then Game against the arrows, Angie- anyone listening to/watching the game]
[Afternoon, then evening of game]

Oliver sat near his locker clipping the tail of his broom after practice, wondering about the game later that day. He felt particularly irritated at sitting out today- he didn’t particularly want to be at the game- especially if he couldn’t at least watch Angie play. They would both have to sit out. He was trying to think of an excuse to skip the game when the captain walked over, looking surly.
”Wood! You’re playing today,” he barked, his look daring Oliver to argue.
”Uh…may I ask why?”
”Because Cooper’s decided he doesn’t want to play!” The captain glared over at the Keeper who was sitting in a group with other players. “So help me Merlin, if you screw this up, Wood, you’ll wish you never played Quidditch.” The captain stalked off, leaving Oliver sitting with a confused look on his face. After a few moments he went to Cooper to ask why he was sitting out.
”We’ve got a bet about how well you’ll play against your girlfriend,” Cooper grinned.
”…She’s not playing,” Oliver said, further perplexed.
”Oh yes she is, we got a roster list for the game from the Arrows this morning.” Cooper handed Oliver the parchment who read over it, muttering to himself.
”It must be a mistake.”
”No mistake, Wood,” a chaser sitting nearby spoke up. “And my money’s on you, so you’d better not go easy on her.”
Oliver wandered back to his locker, unsure of how he should feel. He was pleased he would get to play, but worried that Angie wasn’t, and wondered how he would play against her. They’d never been against one another in a game before. It would certainly be an experience.

[Afternoon, Quidditch Supplies shop]
[Anyone]

Oliver sat in the shop, staring at the very nice little cake in front of him. He had completely forgotten that today was his birthday until the manager's daughter had given him this cake she'd baked. He wasn't even sure how she knew it was his birthday- but who was he to turn down a perfectly good birthday confectionary? Practice that morning had been as terrible as always, but he didn't feel as tired as he usually did; he seemed to be getting back into top shape. Going to practices regularly made him realize how out of shape he was actually getting. This cake wouldn't help- he stabbed it with a fork and ate a piece- but it certainly was delicious.

[Practice then Flat, Angie] [Early Evening, dated to Saturday so we can crash Harry's date!]

"How're you doing Wood?" one of Oliver's teammates asked as Oliver collapsed on a bench after practice.

"I hurt," he answered and those nearby laughed. Of course he hurt. He'd just gone through one of the most grueling practices he'd had since the beginning of his Quidditch career. Ever since the "talk" with Angelina he had been trying harder- and it seemed the captain was punishing him for it. Each practice was worse than the last and he alone was put through several excersises the others didn't have to do. Oliver took the treatment without complaint. They were testing him, and he had to prove himself. However, he was still a bit sore with Angie- the whole "production" with the broom was entirely unneccessary, he thought. And childish, though he wouldn't admit to himself that his reaction was just as immature, the point was that she started it.

With the argument on his mind, Oliver showered and changed before apparating to the flat. He fell onto the couch and contemplating just sleeping there; he was sore all over and had an early shift at the shop the next day then another harrowing practice soon after.