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Post by minerva rose mcgonagall on Oct 30, 2010 11:49:42 GMT 10
Minerva left Honeydukes, the bag of her favorite caramel toffees that Ambrosius Flume had thrust upon her as she left tucked away in her pocket. Ambrosius had been quite understanding about the need to shut down the passage to Hogwarts that started in his basement – after the Battle, it was impossible to guess how many people knew about its’ existence and even its’ whereabouts. The team of volunteers who helped the Weasley twins barricade the secret tunnels had been large and no one had kept track of who they were. In addition, no one had thought to ask them to keep quiet about what they had seen, and as a result, the secret passages were now not-so-secret passages.
Ambrosius had been both relieved and wistful when she had asked him to allow the Aurors to seal the tunnel permanently. It was, after all, quite something to be able to say that you had your own personal entrance to Hogwarts, and one used by such notables as Sirius Black, the Weasley twins, and even Harry Potter. However, the passage was an unsupportable security risk, and Minerva suspected Ambrosius would be glad to know that no more Hogwarts students would be entering his storeroom without his knowledge.
The Honeydukes passage had been the last of them – well, all but Ariana’s, but Ariana had promised not to let anyone through it, except in circumstances as dire as the months approaching the final battle, so that was all right. Minerva would let Harry and the other Aurors know that all the tunnels could be sealed. And after a suitable interval, she would go consult George Weasley about creating at least one new one. Minerva was of the firm belief that a secret passage would do more good than harm if it were actually secret. However, she would keep that plan to herself for the time being.
Minerva was beginning to feel a little calmer now, that some of the enormous amount of work she had to complete that summer was done. She still had several problems to deal with, but she had recently discovered the joys of delegation, and she had people in mind to help with most of the remaining tasks. Minerva stopped outside the door to check her to do list – she simply did not have the time to make multiple trips if she forgot something.
Minerva tucked the list away and turned towards the Post Office. She needed to check that they were prepared to collect mail from the families of Muggleborns from the Muggle post box it was sent to and owl it up to Hogwarts during the school year. They had had a very successful system once, but it had rather broken down during the war, and they were under new management now. However, Minerva had not gone three steps before she saw Oliver Wood approaching. What wonderful luck! Minerva had been intending to contact him for quite some time.
“Mr. Wood!” She called. “Might I have a word?”
word count: 507
tags: Oliver
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Post by ritz on Oct 31, 2010 2:56:54 GMT 10
The off season was a boring time for Oliver. Practices didn't start for another month, and though he had off pitch strength and conditioning that he was doing, he was still bored more often than not. He'd taken to exploring the world a bit - at least the close range part of the world. So far he'd spent days in Diagon Alley, weeks in Muggle London, and about a month at home in Scotland, but nothing was satisfying his boredom.
He'd been to the library near his house a few times, though he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't in hopes of seeing Katie again. Because of the frequent trips, he'd taken up some light reading - not nearly as light as he'd hoped, since the fiction section held no interest for him - and ended up reading a lot of philosophy books both in the library and at home. But even that, at this point, had become irksome, and only served in making him antsy. He paced around his flat, went for a run, did anything he could think of, but he was still unbelievably bored.
Finally, he decided to go to Hogsmeade, the one place he'd always found quelched his boredom as a student. Of course, being friends with the Weasley twins, he'd been here at disallowed times on more than one occasion, but now that he was an adult, it seemed strange coming on a weekday. It was a chilly afternoon, and Oliver had been in the robes shop for long enough. He'd not bought much, just a few sets of dress robes, because he had a feeling he'd have to go to some sort of ball in the near future - the team publicist liked to send him to them, she said that it was important that the players be socially minded.
But Oliver wasn't socially minded, and he hated it. At least this way, he'd be picking out his own robes.
As he was leaving the shop, garment bag in hand, he heard a familiar voice - one with an accent similar to his own - calling out to him. He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face when he turned to see his former Head-of-House hurrying over to him. He met her halfway, smile only growing. Of course, professor, He acquiesced, feeling quite like he was fifteen again. It was strange - even though he was an adult, he would always see Professor McGonnagal as someone to look up to - someone who deserved and demanded respect. It made him revert to his student self, but he didn't mind it - in fact, he relished the opportunity to have someone of that position in his life, now that he wasn't speaking to his parents. To what do I owe the pleasure?
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Post by minerva rose mcgonagall on Oct 31, 2010 9:23:38 GMT 10
Minerva smiled at Oliver’s enthusiasm. She had been fond of him at Hogwarts and she knew that he had liked her as well, although there had been some rough spots in their relationship during the Firebolt episode his Seventh year. She had had complaints about him from some of her colleagues, as he had never applied himself to anything but Quidditch, but Minerva had found his lack of prowess in class forgivable – and not just because he was a wonderful athlete. Transfiguration may not have fascinated Oliver, but he had always treated her with respect. She had guessed more than he might have been aware of about his troubled relationship with his parents, and had always hoped he would come to her if he needed to.
“Mr. Wood,” She said gently, “I think you are quite old enough to call me Minerva, if you should wish to. I am approaching you in a professional capacity, so it would be perfectly appropriate.” Minerva did not hold out much hope that he would actually begin using her first name right away, but she had to introduce the idea sometime. It always took several years for her former students to stop calling her “Professor” – there were middle-aged ones who hadn’t yet managed it. She couldn’t believe that she was that intimidating, so she had always chosen to believe that it was simply a byproduct of the almost universal fear of Professor Snape.
Minerva thought about how to phrase her request. Oliver had helped quite a lot with the rebuilding of the Quidditch Pitch over the past few months, organizing much of the work himself when it became clear that the Hogwarts staff and the Ministry were far too occupied with fixing crumbled walls, dented suits of armor, broken statues and damaged wards to attend to it. The people involved in the reconstruction effort who knew him had laughed; commenting on how it was just like Oliver to think the Quidditch Pitch should have priority. Minerva had said nothing, but privately had thought they were being unfair to him – the students needed to know that things were going back to normal, that it was okay to have fun again, perhaps even more than they needed the shattered chandeliers fixed and the ripped portraits mended. If anyone understood how much it was possible to need Quidditch, it was Oliver.
Minerva indicated a nearby bench to Oliver. “Shall we?” As they approached the bench, she started to talk. “First I’d like to thank you for all your help with the rebuilding. I can’t imagine how long it would have taken if so many students hadn’t returned to help. And I don’t expect anything more from you, but I need some help and I think you might be able to provide it.” Minerva hesitated, thinking. “How much do you know about the state of the Hogwarts Quidditch program in the last few years, Mr. Wood?”
word count: 494
tags: Oliver
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Post by ritz on Oct 31, 2010 10:07:16 GMT 10
"You want me to call you Minerva when you still call me Mister Wood?" Oliver asked, bemused, as he followed her to the bench, sitting next to her without argument. Her next words were cause for thought, though. What did he know about the state of the quidditch program? Well, he knew it could always use work, even when he had been there. And now, more than ever, it definitely needed rebuilding. He knew how he would go about it, or how he would likely go about it, and almost hoped that Professor McGonnagal – er… Minerva – would ask for his opinion.
"I know that it’s not been running particularly smoothly since the battle, if that’s what you mean," He said slowly, not sure how else to word the statement, since obviously there was something she either wanted to tell him or ask him. A professional capacity. What could that mean? He wracked his brain for what it could possibly be, before his eyes widened. "Madame Hooch is alright, isn’t she?" He asked hurriedly, wondering if that was perhaps the avenue this was venturing down. He liked Madame Hooch almost as much as he liked McGonnagal herself, especially since hers was the only class he ever did well in. Further to that, Hooch was healthy as a horse, the last time Oliver had seen her.
He hadn’t kept in touch with any of the other professors, really, because he was aware that none of them were particularly fond of him. He wasn’t, after all, the smartest kid in the class by any means. He knew the disproving looks followed him out of the classrooms and down the halls, but at the time, Oliver didn’t much care. In fact, he still didn’t much care – he had enough disproval coming at him from his parents, after all. As it stood, he had the tendency to avoid people who disproved of the way he lived his life, and so the only professors he spoke to upon finishing his part in the rebuilding were Professor McGonnagal (on occasion) and Madame Hooch (even more occasionally).
[[ooc: so sorry about the length - no muse atm.]]
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Post by minerva rose mcgonagall on Nov 2, 2010 5:08:09 GMT 10
“No, no, Madam Hooch is perfectly all right.” Minerva hastily assured him, vowing to take more care with her words. The legacy of the war had taught everyone to be quick to assume the worst, and two years of peace had not been enough to un-learn that particular lesson. “And I would be perfectly happy to call you Oliver, if you should like me to.” She added lightly, smiling at him. She paused for a minute, and then decided he could be trusted to be discreet.
“You would not know, of course, but Madam Hooch is only a part-time employee – that is why flying lessons are so irregular, and why there is usually no supervision of practices, only games. This is because her daughter has some very severe disabilities – mental disabilities – and she is needed at home quite a lot. And I know you will keep that quiet.” Minerva finished sternly, allowing some of her classroom authority to creep into her voice. Oliver could be trusted to keep a secret, but there was no harm in making sure he knew what to be quiet about.
“At any rate, she is not available to take on any additional Quidditch related duties that might come up. Which is what brings me to you.” Minerva frowned thinking about where to start. She assumed Oliver would be well aware of what had gone on with Hogwarts Quidditch while the Weasley twins, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet had still been at school, and she supposed he would also have heard about the first season after their graduation from Katie Bell, or from Ron and Ginny Weasley by way of the twins. Therefore she should start the year after that – the year the war had come to Hogwarts.
“Only Purebloods were allowed to play Quidditch during the last year of the war, and of course many seventh years did not come to school that year, having chosen to either run or fight for one side or the other. In the end, only Slytherin and Ravenclaw managed to put together teams – the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Purebloods refused to play if their Half-blood friends could not. The exclusively Ravenclaw-Slytherin Pureblood Quidditch competition failed to rouse much interest and Professor Snape canceled it as pointless halfway through the year.” Minerva waited for a possible protest, as Oliver had been deeply horrified by the cancellation of the Quidditch Cup in his sixth year due to the Chamber of Secrets incident, but he remained silent. Minerva concealed her approval – he really had grown up.
“The first year after the war, the pitch was – well, you saw it. The giants had run into the centaurs and the house elves there, you see, and from what I hear from the witnesses the confrontation was rather spectacular. The point is, that first year, we could hardly run the Quidditch Cup, and as you know the repairs you organized weren’t completed until November last year, so we couldn’t do much then either, although at least we were able to have Flying lessons in the spring for the First through Third years, who had never had any before.”
Minerva paused, watching the comprehension dawn in Oliver’s face. “You see the problem now?” She asked. “It’s been three years since Hogwarts had real Quidditch tryouts and held the Quidditch Cup, and with the exception of some very crowded flying lesson, there has been no organized flying for anyone in that time. So at the moment, we have a repaired pitch, a referee and flying instructor for First Years, but our actual Quidditch program is gone. How can I choose a captain from a house that has no students who have played for more than two years, if at all? Slytherin and Hufflepuff do not have a single member of their former teams still at school. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are hardly in better shape. And that is why I am looking for some help.”
Minerva sat back and let Oliver digest this information. She knew he would come up with something, even if he himself were too busy to become directly involved. His dedication to Hogwarts Quidditch had been unmatched by any other student she had ever taught – he would not let her down.
[[ooc- don't worry, it was fine! Also, as much as I enjoy getting your replies so promptly, you don't have to feel pressured to answer right away if you're not inspired! I can wait if you need me to!]]
word count: 713
tags: Oliver
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