Doubt In
She looked like grace. Oliver wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but as he stared at the little eleven-year old with the dirty blonde hair and the oddly delicate features, he couldn’t help but think that if grace had a face, it would be hers. Undoubtedly, it was a mixture of fatigue and boredom that was causing his brain to think such strange things. He had been up quite late the previous night re-reading Quidditch Through the Ages for the one hundredth time. It was a superstitious ritual of sorts that he partook in before the start of every term.
Of course, this time it was different. This time, he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The youngest captain in twenty-five years. When he had received the letter in the post, the one telling him that he was to be the next Gryffindor Quidditch captain, he had been convinced that it must have been some sort of joke, a cruel plot dreamt up by the Weasley twins for their own enjoyment. When he realized that the letter was the real thing, it had been simultaneously the best and most ominous moment of his young life.
He would be replacing the great Charlie Weasley. The best Quidditch player Gryffindor had seen in years, possibly ever. Charlie Weasley, the Seeker who had caught the Snitch the most consecutive times in school history. Charlie Weasley, who could play for England with the drop of the hat, if he wasn’t so caught up with those ruddy dragons. Charlie Weasley, who had been Oliver’s Captain and mentor for the past three years. Charlie Weasley, who in his seventh and final year, would be replaced by Oliver Wood, the fourth-year Keeper with a few exceptional saves and no experience.
The news had spread at a dizzying pace, so that by the time Oliver had boarded the train at the start of term, he had heard his name in what seemed like thirty different conversations as he made his way through the train.
“McGonagall must be losing it in her old age. Oliver Wood instead of Charlie Weasley? Honestly, what was she thinking?”
“Wood? He plays Chaser right?”
“I think Hufflepuff’s got a serious chance at the Cup this year, what with Ravenclaw losing half of its squad and Gryffindor replacing Weasley with that fourth-year.”
“Oliver who?”
At one point, Corinne McDougal, a third-year Ravenclaw busybody with a penchant for gossiping, opened Oliver’s compartment door and stuck her head in.
“Have you heard?” she asked eagerly.
Oliver looked up from the final pages he had left of Quidditch through the Ages. “Heard what?”
“Charlie Weasley’s been replaced by Oliver Wood!” Corrine said with relish, mistaking Oliver’s dumbfounded stare for shock at McGonagall’s stupidity. “I know it's scandalous isn’t it?”
“Corrine,” Percy Weasley said, setting his own book, Minister or Man? aside and fixing her with a stern glare. “Gossiping is a trivial pursuit that you must learn to rid yourself of. If I were a prefect, I would most certainly dock points.”
“Well it’s a good think you’re not then,” Corrine said huffily as she shut the door loudly.
Oliver felt his face redden as Percy and Oliver's friend, a fellow Gryffindor fourth-year, Thomas Andrews stared at him.
“Thanks,” Oliver mumbled as he looked back down at his book, trying to leave it at that.
Of course, Percy Weasley always had a word to say about everything.
“I’m sure McGonagall had some logic behind choosing you over Charlie,” Percy said knowledgably. “I can’t for the life of me discern what that reasoning is, but I’m sure she has it.”
Percy did little to reassure him.
Thomas grinned bracingly, “Listen, people don’t like change. They’re used to Charlie. You just have to show them that sometimes, change can be a good thing. That and you better pray like hell Gryffindor wins their first match.”
Oliver knew Thomas was trying to make him feel better, but all he had succeeded in doing was make him feel more anxious, if possible.
Charlie Weasley, for his part, had taken the whole thing in stride. He had found Oliver shortly before the Sorting and shaken his hand, congratulating him jovially.
“Never really had the head for strategy,” Charlie said grinning broadly. “S’pose it might be a bit hard taking orders from you, but you’ll make a great captain, Wood.”
Oliver found it difficult to agree and it seemed that most everyone else felt similarly. The entire trip to Hogwarts and even as he was seated in the Great Hall, Oliver felt the cloak of doubt that surrounded him in the unconvinced glances and whispered disbelief.
So in an effort to quell his own anxieties, he began watching the Sorting with a halfhearted interest, passing the time by distractedly predicting which of the first years had the potential to become future Quidditch players. It served to provide him some sort of entertainment during the ever-boring Sorting.
Oliver decided that “Adams, Sarah” looked like she might do well as a Chaser, though she was a bit stringy for his liking.
“Addler, Eric” was stout and strongly built. He could possibly make a fine Hufflepuff beater one day.
“Anderson, Frank” looked entirely too twitchy to ever pursue a career in Quidditch.
And when McGonagall called out “Bell, Katherine”, Oliver couldn’t help but examine the small girl curiously.She walked towards the hat cautiously. Her face held a hint of fear, but she had her shoulders squared in a determined manner that was a nice contrast to old Frank’s twitchy nerves. She seemed entirely too mature to be a first year, the way she situated herself properly upon the stool, crossing her ankles carefully. She placed the Sorting Hat atop her head and made it seem like it was much more than a beat-up, talking hat. She had all the fine manners of an extraordinarily well-trained pureblooded witch. But Oliver knew he had never heard the surname Bell amongst the old wizarding families.
The hat sat upon her head for a few seconds before calling out “Gryffindor!” loudly. Oliver watched as the girl smiled for a brief second before removing the hat and quickly making her way towards the Gryffindor table where she was welcomed heartily.
Her build was a bit on the small side, it was too slender for any position other than Seeker. But Quidditch was a rough sport, and this girl looked distinctly breakable. Games that could last several hours, regardless of how terrible the weather was, Bludgers to the head, burly Slytherins whose greatest joy was causing bodily harm, all of these were very real aspects of Quidditch which Oliver sincerely doubted she would be able to handle. No “Katherine Bell” was better off on the ground. Oliver threw one last interested glance in her direction before he turned back to the sorting in time for “Chang, Cho”
Of course, this time it was different. This time, he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The youngest captain in twenty-five years. When he had received the letter in the post, the one telling him that he was to be the next Gryffindor Quidditch captain, he had been convinced that it must have been some sort of joke, a cruel plot dreamt up by the Weasley twins for their own enjoyment. When he realized that the letter was the real thing, it had been simultaneously the best and most ominous moment of his young life.
He would be replacing the great Charlie Weasley. The best Quidditch player Gryffindor had seen in years, possibly ever. Charlie Weasley, the Seeker who had caught the Snitch the most consecutive times in school history. Charlie Weasley, who could play for England with the drop of the hat, if he wasn’t so caught up with those ruddy dragons. Charlie Weasley, who had been Oliver’s Captain and mentor for the past three years. Charlie Weasley, who in his seventh and final year, would be replaced by Oliver Wood, the fourth-year Keeper with a few exceptional saves and no experience.
The news had spread at a dizzying pace, so that by the time Oliver had boarded the train at the start of term, he had heard his name in what seemed like thirty different conversations as he made his way through the train.
“McGonagall must be losing it in her old age. Oliver Wood instead of Charlie Weasley? Honestly, what was she thinking?”
“Wood? He plays Chaser right?”
“I think Hufflepuff’s got a serious chance at the Cup this year, what with Ravenclaw losing half of its squad and Gryffindor replacing Weasley with that fourth-year.”
“Oliver who?”
At one point, Corinne McDougal, a third-year Ravenclaw busybody with a penchant for gossiping, opened Oliver’s compartment door and stuck her head in.
“Have you heard?” she asked eagerly.
Oliver looked up from the final pages he had left of Quidditch through the Ages. “Heard what?”
“Charlie Weasley’s been replaced by Oliver Wood!” Corrine said with relish, mistaking Oliver’s dumbfounded stare for shock at McGonagall’s stupidity. “I know it's scandalous isn’t it?”
“Corrine,” Percy Weasley said, setting his own book, Minister or Man? aside and fixing her with a stern glare. “Gossiping is a trivial pursuit that you must learn to rid yourself of. If I were a prefect, I would most certainly dock points.”
“Well it’s a good think you’re not then,” Corrine said huffily as she shut the door loudly.
Oliver felt his face redden as Percy and Oliver's friend, a fellow Gryffindor fourth-year, Thomas Andrews stared at him.
“Thanks,” Oliver mumbled as he looked back down at his book, trying to leave it at that.
Of course, Percy Weasley always had a word to say about everything.
“I’m sure McGonagall had some logic behind choosing you over Charlie,” Percy said knowledgably. “I can’t for the life of me discern what that reasoning is, but I’m sure she has it.”
Percy did little to reassure him.
Thomas grinned bracingly, “Listen, people don’t like change. They’re used to Charlie. You just have to show them that sometimes, change can be a good thing. That and you better pray like hell Gryffindor wins their first match.”
Oliver knew Thomas was trying to make him feel better, but all he had succeeded in doing was make him feel more anxious, if possible.
Charlie Weasley, for his part, had taken the whole thing in stride. He had found Oliver shortly before the Sorting and shaken his hand, congratulating him jovially.
“Never really had the head for strategy,” Charlie said grinning broadly. “S’pose it might be a bit hard taking orders from you, but you’ll make a great captain, Wood.”
Oliver found it difficult to agree and it seemed that most everyone else felt similarly. The entire trip to Hogwarts and even as he was seated in the Great Hall, Oliver felt the cloak of doubt that surrounded him in the unconvinced glances and whispered disbelief.
So in an effort to quell his own anxieties, he began watching the Sorting with a halfhearted interest, passing the time by distractedly predicting which of the first years had the potential to become future Quidditch players. It served to provide him some sort of entertainment during the ever-boring Sorting.
Oliver decided that “Adams, Sarah” looked like she might do well as a Chaser, though she was a bit stringy for his liking.
“Addler, Eric” was stout and strongly built. He could possibly make a fine Hufflepuff beater one day.
“Anderson, Frank” looked entirely too twitchy to ever pursue a career in Quidditch.
And when McGonagall called out “Bell, Katherine”, Oliver couldn’t help but examine the small girl curiously.She walked towards the hat cautiously. Her face held a hint of fear, but she had her shoulders squared in a determined manner that was a nice contrast to old Frank’s twitchy nerves. She seemed entirely too mature to be a first year, the way she situated herself properly upon the stool, crossing her ankles carefully. She placed the Sorting Hat atop her head and made it seem like it was much more than a beat-up, talking hat. She had all the fine manners of an extraordinarily well-trained pureblooded witch. But Oliver knew he had never heard the surname Bell amongst the old wizarding families.
The hat sat upon her head for a few seconds before calling out “Gryffindor!” loudly. Oliver watched as the girl smiled for a brief second before removing the hat and quickly making her way towards the Gryffindor table where she was welcomed heartily.
Her build was a bit on the small side, it was too slender for any position other than Seeker. But Quidditch was a rough sport, and this girl looked distinctly breakable. Games that could last several hours, regardless of how terrible the weather was, Bludgers to the head, burly Slytherins whose greatest joy was causing bodily harm, all of these were very real aspects of Quidditch which Oliver sincerely doubted she would be able to handle. No “Katherine Bell” was better off on the ground. Oliver threw one last interested glance in her direction before he turned back to the sorting in time for “Chang, Cho”