WHO: Oliver Wood & Grace Jordan WHAT: They finally get a chance to talk and work on some charity ideas! Oliver is 100% using it as a distraction! WHEN: last week WHERE: the Woodsleys' flat WARNINGS: N/A
It still didn’t seem real, Oliver thought as he sat on the floor of his and Percy’s flat in London, Ghost resting his head on Oliver’s thigh. None of it seemed real. The past four months had gone by in a blur, and Oliver still couldn’t believe it had all happened. He still couldn’t believe that it was over.
He hadn’t been able to picture a life beyond the war. He and Percy had fantasised about moving to Australia or New Zealand -- basically as far away as they could get -- but he genuinely hadn’t been able to see the end. Now it was there. It wasn’t a fantasy anymore. The future was within their grasp. There was so much work to be done that he couldn’t see them leaving, at least not soon. Percy deserved the chance to rebuild the Ministry that was so important to him. And Oliver -- well, he and Grace had work to do.
“Hey, so I was thinking…” Oliver looked up at her. “What do you think about a charity match? Once everyone gets cleared for play. I know Angelina and Alicia would want to play, so I’d want to make sure they could do it. Ticket sales could go to support the victims, and we’d get to play again.”
Grace looked up from her stack of parchment, quill dripping on the pages of a very poorly draw out Quidditch Union proposal. With a few pointers from Maddie she’d finally started sitting down to write it, but despite the experience going head to head with the charity’s lawyers had given her the past few months, writing legal documents had yet to be finessed.
“That’s brilliant,” Grace set it aside, “that’s what I think. I’m sure a number of people would volunteer too, but it would be a good opportunity to put the Muggleborn players front and centre, back on their brooms.” Her enthusiasm grew, the itch to play and freely too was like kindling. “It would also be a good opportunity for Magical Sports to show everyone what they’re going to do to put things to rights after all of this. I’m certainly interested to know.”
Oliver knew she’d been aching to play again just as much as he was. It’d taken time after the match against the Magpies for Oliver to want to get on a broom again, but once he’d gotten over those fears, he was back to feeling empty. This could all heal that wound. They’d help, and get to play.
“I’m curious about that, too. They owe the Muggleborn players a lot for taking their jobs the way they did, for sending them away. For everything.” The teams all had a lot of work to do to rebuild any sort of goodwill in the community, but maybe this could be a start. He bent his head to look at the paper in front of him and jotted down his idea. “We’ll have to find a pitch that’s still operational,” he said, thinking about the match in January and how he had no idea if it’d even been fixed. “Talk to the other players, see if they’d want to. We might have to wait ‘til they’re physically all right to fly again, but --” He looked up, smiling. “We’d need time to sort out the details anyway.”
Grace nodded, thoughtful. “It might be more meaningful if we had it at Montrose, after…” it didn’t need to be said so Grace moved on. “Leave that to me, I’ll sort out the place and logistics if you’d like? I’ll talk to Ang and Alicia about it, they may have ideas. Do you want to canvas players then?” Grace was smiling too, wide and bright. They’d need time to sort out details but the prospect of it all made it difficult to reign in the enthusiasm.
“I’m sure Lee would be our commentator too, if we asked. We should talk to Baz and Rosier, help get the word out once we sort it all out.”
“That’d be brilliant, yeah.” It’d been ages since he listened to Lee at a match, but Lee brought an enthusiasm to matches that Oliver hadn’t seen in anyone else, and as much as he hated to admit that Rosier knew about anything, he knew about Quidditch. “I’ll canvas players. I don’t think we’ll have trouble, though.” He suspected that there were plenty of players who would be eager for the opportunity.
Oliver fell quiet then, thinking about who he could ask and whether he even wanted to stick around for the months it would take to organise. “Are you going to go back?” he asked. “To the Magpies? I mean, when it starts up again?”
“Yes,” came out of Grace much faster than she was actually certain. She’d been thinking of it those days beside Lee’s hospital bed; it had kept her focused. It was what she’d told Cai.
“I have more play left in me, another cup for the Magpies, a cup for Britain,” she smiled, “a cup for Keaton. But I want to go back because changes need to be made and I don’t know if I’m the best one to go after them, but I’m not going to be quiet about it. Not this time.”
She’d always feel like she’d have a lot to make up for no matter how impossible their situation had been.
“We need a players union to protect our interests, to prevent any further discrimination. This charity is so important and maybe it’s something I’ll do more permanently after my shoulder finally goes, but I want to see what I can still do as a player.”
She considered Oliver where he sat. “Are you thinking of not going back?”
Oliver hesitated. He knew he should feel the same way she did -- that he wanted to get a cup for Puddlemere, a cup for Scotland, for Keaton, for his father. That he still wanted to play for himself first and foremost. She was right, too, about all of the changes they needed to make. The league needed work, and he couldn’t help if he stopped. He could only go so far with their charity -- Keaton’s legacy -- if he wasn’t playing.
It was simply hard to imagine, sometimes. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sure I’ll go back, and you’re right, we’ve a lot of work to do to fix the league, I just --” Oliver exhaled slowly. “It’s a lot right now, with my da. He’ll never get to see me win a cup, you know? It’s --” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, blinking to keep the tears at bay. “Overwhelming.”
Grace got up from the table immediately and drew closer, until she was seated right across from Oliver. “Hey,” she said gently, and pressed her hand against his wrist. “I know it is, but you’re not doing this alone. What they did—” she swallowed before her grip became more firm, “your Da was an amazing man. I’m sorry he won’t be there to see you do these things, but I’m sure he knew you would. He was so proud of you, and he would have been proud of you no matter what you decide. Quidditch or not. And you have a lot of people who love you too, who are just as proud, who will be there with you every step of the way.”
“Yeah.” Oliver just let himself breathe for a moment, and concentrated on the pressure from Grace’s hand. He knew that this feeling was only temporary (Merlin, he hoped this feeling was only temporary). He knew he needed to keep trying and to not give up, and that he’d probably feel better about Quidditch and his entire future once he no longer had his father’s funeral looming overhead. It should be easier to see, then.
He nodded. “I love you too,” he said, bumping her shoulder with his own. “He wouldn’t want to see me stop because of him. He’d really want to see us make it all a better place to play. He was really angry about how not all of the teams stood up against the MRC.” It was one thing to say that, however, and another thing to put it into practice. That part was harder.
Oliver moved his hand so he could hold Grace’s. He knew it wasn’t easy for her to figure out what her life looked like without Cai in it, either. “And I’ve got your back, too. We’ll be okay.” He smiled a little and repeated himself, “we’ll be okay.” And maybe soon he’d start to believe it.