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It started with a child, or so the story goes; a child destined for greatness, a hero from the age of one, and the youngest seeker in a century.
To most, of course, this final fact was nothing more than a footnote when compared to the veritable mountain of titles resting on the child’s shoulders. It was but a single tile within a detailed mosaic - clearly visible, but overlooked within the bigger picture. All they saw was yet another trophy proclaiming his brilliance without caring one whit as to what it truly signified.
This story is not about that child. Or rather, not in the way one might expect.
~•~
Oliver was having a marvellous day. Perhaps it would be expected of him to say it had been strange, confusing, and just straight-up, mind bogglingly weird, but truth be told he didn’t feel like that in the slightest. Admittedly, being disturbed from his nap during history of magic wasn’t how he expected his afternoon to go, particularly not by his head of house of all people, but Oliver was nothing if not adaptable. That, and utterly dedicated to Quidditch.
To most, looking at the scrawny kid now stood in front of him, they would see the scar and the fame and the celebrity status above all else. To Oliver however, they barely even registered, preoccupied as he was with mentally measuring him up, judging his potential as a seeker. According to McGonagall (and he’d have to be a fool to ever doubt her word) the boy had apparently pulled off a stunt better than Charlie Weasley could’ve managed, and during his first time on a broom at that! It was so unbelievable he almost, almost wanted to suspect the input of the Weasley twins, but he’d already learned their timetables by heart (to preemptively figure out when to schedule Quidditch practices of course) and he knew they were currently in potions.
So yes, Oliver’s day was going spectacularly.
He led Harry towards the Quidditch sheds with the same single minded focus he usually reserved for competitive matches. He had already decided that the usual levels of dedication he put into training simply wouldn’t cut it, now that he was, not only captain, but also facing his final 3 years at Hogwarts and consequently his last 3 opportunities to win the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor. Now, knowing he had to train up a brand new, first year seeker who’d never ever heard of the game before today, just cemented this belief.
While talking through all the various components of the game, his mind was running through the potential consequences of having a first year on the team; this multitasking was easy for him, having been able to explain the intricacies of Quidditch in his sleep from the age of 6. He knew they had the potential to level the playing field, even if only for the first match while the opposing teams still underestimated their young seeker. Having lost the Quidditch cup to Slytherin for the past 7 years (admittedly only 4 of those were while he was at Hogwarts, but still) he finally felt a glimmer of hope spark behind his unwavering determination.
Being a Fifth year, Oliver knew many of his year mates would be focussing on the upcoming OWLs (and he was almost scared to consider how Percy would act this year, Merlin) but none of that mattered to him. Quidditch was his only priority and he’d be damned if he let this chance slip through his fingers.
As long as he could remember, Quidditch had always been his one true passion. The first game he saw was when he was 6 years old - the war had ended half a year ago and his parents took him to the 1982 Quidditch World Cup, Spain vs Austria. From then on, he was hooked. He tuned in to every single Quidditch match streamed on the Wizarding Wireless, anything from Hogwarts matches to ones all across the globe. He begged his parents for a Quidditch Weekly Magazine subscription until they caved and spent hours pouring over each page in great detail, learning about different broomsticks and game strategies and all the latest gossip of each of the players.
In the following years, between attending the local primary school and being tutored in Wizarding matters, such as writing with a quill and learning the basics of astronomy and herbology, Oliver watched many Quidditch matches. Mostly, he could only watch those within the British league, as he needed parental supervision and international portkeys were too expensive to use at weekends, or so his parents claimed. He was able to watch the final match of the 1986 Quidditch World Cup, however, and was even able to buy his own pair of Omnioculars with the money he saved up from his 10th birthday which, to this day, he still considered to be the best purchase of his life.
As a first year, Oliver’s only goal had been to get on the Quidditch team for whichever house he was sorted into and win the Quidditch cup. He had been somewhat expecting to be sorted into Gryffindor, as both his mum and grandfather had been sorted there, but he was still over the moon when he realised he’d be in the same house as Charlie Weasley, and maybe even get to play on the same team as him. Charlie was somewhat of an idol to Oliver, as he joined the team as a third year, caught the snitch in 5 of the 6 games he’d played since, and now was promoted to captain as a mere fourth year.
After attending tryouts, Charlie had told Oliver he was too young to be on the team, but had enough passion and potential to be trained up as a reserve player for once the current keeper graduates. Looking back, he could reluctantly admit he had, in fact, been inexperienced and unsuited for the role, and that Charlie was right. That’s not exactly surprising, considering all the Quidditch talent that boy possessed (and threw away to work with dragons of all things, he easily could’ve gone professional but didn’t and Oliver was still mad about it) but he’d still been upset at the time - as eleven year olds often are when they don’t get what they want - so it was almost gratifying when Gryffindor lost without him. ‘Almost’ being the key word there, because most of all he was angry with the Slytherins and all the more determined to win the cup for Gryffindor the next year.
Sadly, it was not meant to be. Despite having Charlie as both seeker and captain, and Oliver as keeper, in his very first match he was knocked out by a bludger 2 minutes in, only to wake up a week later in the hospital wing. After such a catastrophic failure Gryffindor were simply unable to take the lead in the scoreboard, so it wasn’t surprising that Slytherin won the cup for the fifth year running.
The next year, despite Oliver’s protests, Charlie stepped down as captain to instead focus on his NEWTs, leaving their next best player, a sixth year chaser, to take up the role. With most of the team now in seventh year, they began scouting for reserve players to replace them, with the beaters deciding on the first year Weasley twins, but Charlie and the chasers had no such luck. In each match they put up a good fight, but the cup was just out of reach with Slytherin stealing it, once again. As the school year came to a close, and most of the their team graduated, Oliver knew they’d have their work cut out for them to even stand a chance of winning the following year.
Over the summer holidays, he went to see World Cup, as per tradition within his family, which helped fuel his burning desire to win. Unfortunately for Oliver, as he was certainly going to learn very soon, wanting to win doesn’t always make it possible, and sometimes life could be very disappointing.
Oliver was not much of a believer in divination but he couldn’t help feel as though he’d predicted this. It was a trainwreck. With Charlie and most of the rest of their team gone there really was no way for them to win. The now seventh year chaser kept the position of captain, but was too overworked trying to train up the new second years, Alicia and Angelina, as chasers to dedicate enough time to the rest of the team, such as the second year Weasley twin beaters. During tryouts, they selected the best seeker available, some unknown fourth year, but in all honesty, he just wasn’t very good. With inexperienced chasers, untrained beaters and a terrible seeker, the Gryffindors were well and truly slaughtered.
This year, Oliver vowed, was going to be different.
Yes, of course, most of the team were still perhaps worryingly young, with a first and second year who were both entirely new to the team, and 4 third years who had all only joined the team officially the year before. But, well, Oliver was captain now, and he wasn’t going to let anyone or anything stop him from winning the cup. Not OWLs, not slytherins, not even a jinxed broomstick. They were going to win.
Which is why, stood on a Quidditch pitch on a dark, chilly September evening, watching as a tiny Harry Potter flew and spun and dived after a snitch (and was it really only his second time on a broom, because if so the natural talent there was utterly astounding), Oliver knew he was going to change the game - even if only metaphorically.