CHAPTER ONE,
─── ❛ parental guidance ❜

can't stop til the whole
world knows my name cause i
was only born inside my dreams

──────────── SOMEWHERE, IN A TINY VILLAGE in the Scottish countryside, a young boy lay awake at night dreaming of gold.

And he didn't just dream of gold, he craved it. He yearned for it so fervently that sometimes, when he thought about it hard enough, he was certain he could taste the cold metallic texture on the surface of his tongue. He longed for the feeling of its handles between his fingers, pining for the sounds of thunderous crowds as he threw it above his head, and when he finally woke up from his slumber, and the space in his trophy cabinet still looked bare, he felt completely numb. No, as he lived and breathed, the only thing Oliver Wood had ever felt desire for was gold.

He wanted to feel like Zeus with his thunderbolt, so powerful that he could rule the entire heavens and then some, the master of his own fate. And not only would he feel like a God, but he would be worshipped like one, hailed in the halls of victory for the rest of his life. He wanted to soar higher and higher until he could no longer see the ground.

Just one taste of gold would pave the way for his entire future.

Oftentimes, it felt like it was so close to his reach that the royal light was illuminating him, shining at him so brightly that he shimmered like diamonds. And other times, it felt so hopeless that it felt dangerous to even touch, and the harsh light only caused his eyes to become blinded.

Oliver Wood wanted to be like Zeus, the king of all gods, but perhaps he was just Icarus - the boy who flew too close to the sun, and plummeted.

This would be the most important year of Oliver's life.

On this humid August day, as the leaves on the trees blew gracefully in the wind, Oliver Wood was preparing to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his seventh - and final - year. The summer had felt like a long and tiresome one, and as the days grew longer, the young keeper was itching for the day when he could finally step on that platform and return to where he belonged.

As of now, the Quidditch pitch sat patiently - barren and bare, waiting for their friend to trudge along the grass so that they could welcome him again.

And just thinking about stepping onto that delicate grass was making Oliver's skin tingle. He always struggled over summer, the break just did not pass quickly enough, but this year he was growing particularly impatient. It had been almost a year since he had last played in a match, after the cup had been cancelled the previous year due to the growing attacks on muggle-born students, and watching his broom lay static for eleven months had caused Oliver to grow feral.

After Gryffindor's early defeat of Slytherin in October, he had thought last year may have finally been his year, but alas, his dream was shattered before they could even reach their second game of the season.

And so, consequently, this would be the most important year of Oliver's life - his final chance to take home that victory, and if he didn't get his hands on that cup, he wasn't even sure what he would do. His fingers were twitching, just at the thought.

He had a decent chance, too - or at least he thought. The young protege, Harry Potter (though the cause of all his obstacles), was one of the finest seekers Oliver had ever seen. And the Weasley twins were solid beaters, though they were troublesome at times, that was for sure. Angelina Johnson was a force to be reckoned with, and both Katie Bell and Alicia Splinnet were certainly not to be underestimated, either.

No, it was no news to Wood that he had the strongest and fastest team in the entire school, and if the cup was decided on skillset alone, he should have been a complete shoe-in. But Oliver was also experienced enough to know that it was not that simple; Slytherin played dirty, you could never predict what trick they might have up their sleeve; Ravenclaw were clever, so their tactics were something that could never be dismissed.

And Hufflepuff? Well, Hufflepuff always had the potential to completely surprise you.

Still, he fancied his chances, and he had spent the entire summer drafting new tactics and researching alternate plays just to prove it.

This would be the most important year of Oliver Wood's life, and he was certainly not going to let anybody down.

The kettle was boiling itself on the stove, and the chimney of the tiny Wood cottage was bursting as steam bled into the August sky. The modest house was located in Pittenweem, Scotland, and Lenora Wood had chosen it because she had always favoured the peaceful solitude of the harbour. It was only a tiny fishing port, but it was all Oliver had ever called home, and he wouldn't swap it for the gauche mansions of the sacred pureblood families, even if he was offered.

It had just passed noon, and Lenora was folded over the kitchen stove preparing food for lunch. Despite having access to magic through her family, as a muggle, Lenora had always vowed to never cave in to taking the easy route. She liked to do things the old fashioned way, so that she didn't get caught up in the magic and lose a sense of her humanity along the way. And so, she never cooked with anything but her bare hands.

As she set the dining table for their meal, Lenora glanced over at her only son as he sat curled into an armchair, studying a set of papers in his hands, his brow tense and furrowed in concentration, and she sighed. He had been sitting like that all morning, and she wasn't entirely sure he had taken a moment yet to breathe.

"Douglas", the concerned mother nudged her husband and nodded towards the source of her worries.

Oliver's father - a lanky man with a sharp jawline and rectangular glasses - met his wife's eyes with an equal concern, his expression much more knowing, and he nodded at her with a sigh.

"Oliver!" He called across the room, "Lunch is ready."

"Yeah, coming", the young boy called back, but his eyes did not leave the page in front of him, "just give me a minute."

Lenora's face twisted into something rather painful at her son's words, and she watched as he remained glued to his seat as if in some kind of trance.

"Oliver", she called him for the second time, "Now please - before your food goes cold."

"Alright", he grumbled, "I'm coming."

The poor parents were not sure what had happened to their once sanguine son, who used to be sociable and full of life. He had always been driven, that they could not deny, but his dedication to his sport this summer had seemed to take a totally new height. He had done little else for the entire break, other than sit stressing over sheets of paper and drafting diagrams, and in the process he was missing the point entirely, which was that summer was supposed to be a break.

But no, it seemed like poor Oliver had forgotten how to be a teenager entirely. He didn't focus on his studies, he hardly wrote to his friends, and he had little interest in anything at all outside of his quidditch books. It was beginning to become a major concern.

As he sat down and began to munch on his food, Oliver was made painfully aware of his parents' two sets of eyes honed in on him.

"Are you guys okay?", he asked, his mouth stuffed with pasta, "You seem a little off."

Lenora and Douglas each turned to look at each other, validating the other's silent questioning with a synchronised nod before turning back to their baffled son with gritted teeth.

"Son", his father spoke first, "your mother and I want to talk to you about something."

His mother inhaled deeply, "We're concerned about you. You've hardly left that desk of yours all summer, you've been so focused - you've hardly even seen fresh air."

"What? That's a complete exaggeration!", he protested, "Besides, why is that a concern? Shouldn't you be happy that I've been so focused and not out stirring trouble like most kids?"

"Well, yes", Lenora paused, "but you haven't just been focused, doll - you've been relentless."

"It's my final year", Oliver continued to argue, completely missing the cause for his parents' concern, "if I don't put my all in this year, I might lose my final chance to finally take home the trophy. Plus, you know winning this year would massively improve my chances of getting signed somewhere once I graduate."

"We know that, champ, and you know your mother and I admire your dedication", it was Douglas who stepped in, this time, "but it shouldn't take over your entire life - quidditch isn't everything."

The keeper abandoned his bowl of pasta to slam both his hands on the dining table, "You take that back, Dad."

"Alright - this year is an important one to you, we recognise that", his father continued, "but there are other important things this year that you should be prioritising too. It's your final year after all, meaning you have the most important exams of your schooling career coming up. Plus, it's your final chance to enjoy your teen years thoroughly."

"You haven't had any of the experiences of a regular kid, doll", Lenora jumped in, "You spend all your time on the field, so you hardly spend any time with your friends. At your age you should have a healthy balance. We wouldn't be so concerned if you spread your time out a little more wisely - spent more time socialising with your friends. Perhaps you might even have a girlfriend."

Oliver wasn't sure what thought possessed his mind then.

Looking back, he couldn't exactly recall it. All he remembered was that in that moment, as his two parents sat on the opposite side of the table and lectured him like he was in some kind of interrogation, he had feared for the worst. They were his parents after all - they could pull him out of quidditch entirely, if they really wanted to, and he couldn't afford to suffer that kind of loss.

No, in that moment, Oliver had felt like a desperate man, and thus, he had done something that only a desperate man would do.

He lied through his teeth.

"Well, maybe I do have a girlfriend", the words blurted out before his conscious mind could do anything to stop them.

He watched as his father's face twisted in pleasant surprise, and his mother's eyes began to shine with glee.

"You do?", his mother beamed in shock, "Why haven't you told us?"

Oliver shrugged, "You didn't ask."

"Well", Douglas prodded, "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Just a classmate from school, someone in my year", he continued to lie, attempting to mask his panic with an exceptional poker fake, "you don't know her."

There was a moment of silence after his words, and for a second, the young keeper thought he had finally won his way out of his troublesome situation, but unfortunately, it seemed like he had only dug himself a deeper hole.

"Well, that's wonderful, dear. We'll have to meet her!" his mother gushed, applauding, "You'll bring her home for dinner over Christmas."

The pit of Oliver's stomach began to twist, "No, I won't."

"You most certainly will, boy", Lenora asserted, "If you want us to loosen up about your sporting habits, then you'll prove to us that you do have a comfortable enough life outside of the game. We want to meet her - no negotiations."

"Okay", Oliver nodded, tucking back into his meal, but he struggled to mask the distress he felt.

Why had he lied?

Of course he didn't have a girlfriend - heck, he'd never even gotten further than kissing a girl, and none of those kisses had even been with girls he'd liked. He hadn't even looked at a girl, in fact - he was far too busy looking at quaffles, to consider handling any kind of relationship. So what was he supposed to do now, miraculously find some poor soul in one of his classes to fall in love with him before December?

He was deep in it, and the hole was only growing deeper.

And he knew his mother. She was relentless, and she wouldn't give up until she got her way. No, there was little to no chance poor Oliver's Quidditch season was surviving into the spring if he didn't bring home a girl for Christmas.

One thing was for sure - he had gotten himself into a tricky predicament indeed.

This would be the most important year of Elodie Bright's life.

She had just been selected as Head Girl, after all, and with the pressure of her NEWTs approaching, she felt like a pressure cooker that was burning raw, about to boil over. Still, the pressure wasn't something she would surmount to, it was something that would continue to push her until it caused her to thrive. Elodie had never been one to keel in the face of difficulty, because there was no amount of stress in the world that couldn't be solved through song. No, this may have been her most difficult year yet, but it was certainly not something that would break her.

And it would have been the happiest year of her life too - if she hadn't been dumped two weeks into the summer.

Elodie had been in a relationship since the fall of their sixth year, and when they had parted on the platform in June for the break, she had thought everything was going splendidly. That was, of course, until she was woken by an owl tapping at her window a couple of weeks later, with the letter that would destroy her entire summer. And it wasn't even that she was heartbroken about the loss, it was more that she just felt so stupid for not having seen it coming in the first place. He was a Slytherin, after all - and everybody had warned her that he was a bad idea before she had even gotten involved, but Elodie had always been stubborn in her own devices. She felt completely humiliated.

Still, she wouldn't let it spoil her year. Elodie Bright had always been as perky as a daisy - the key was in her name. She was as bright as sunshine, illuminating underneath the light of the stifling September sun. Of course, Elodie Bright was golden, there was no doubt about that.

And she had filled the painful summer with her music, so in the grand scheme of things, it hadn't been too bad. She loved making music - the gentle notes of her violin comforting her with the sound of warm melodies flowing through the house, and the feeling of the brittle strings beneath her fingers was a kind of comfort she would never be able to completely describe. As she played it, there was a feeling - a certain safety that she had never encountered anywhere else, as though she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Though, it was no wonder Elodie was so musically inclined. She was the product of two of the wizarding world's most prominent musicians, after all. Bradley and Georgina Bright - the couple who had found each other through song. Their love story was something for the ages, the kind that you read about in books, not the kind that happens in real life.

She could only hope that someday, she would have such a story herself.

There was an air of familiarity that washed over Elodie as she wheeled her trunk along the platform that sodden morning, the sight of the crimson train billowing with smoke providing her the comfort she had so desperately been seeking. The platform was rammed - the secret station awash with its usual flood of activity. As she walked, Elodie felt the soft bristles of fur brush against her bare ankles, and she felt the need to clutch the metal cage in her left hand much more tightly. The platform was always pervaded by cats - riddled with them, even - twisting through people's legs and prancing around like they owned the place. And she didn't hate them (in fact, she found them rather adorable), but their luring presence did make her fear for her own, meagre pet's life.

"Don't worry, Stanley", she muttered to the ball of fur nestled in his cage, "They won't get to you."

"Talking to the hamster again, are we?", spoke a voice from behind her, and Elodie twisted her body around with a squeal.

As usual, Willa had sauntered down the platform like a celebrity on a red carpet, her body draped in a floor-length, minx coat, sunglasses resting on her scalp to decorate her forehead. Her platinum hair was scraped back into a knot, twisted tightly on the back of her head, and she stood several inches taller than her typical height, because her feet were wedged into a pair of knee-length, leather boots. Though, this was no surprise to Elodie - Willa always liked to make the most of her grand entrances before she was forced into the drabness of her uniform robes.

Elodie glanced down at her own scabby docs and sighed, running her fingers through the damp ends of her shoulder-length hair. It had rained before she'd managed to apparate out of Manchester, and because she was in such a hurry to make it to the platform on time, she hadn't noticed the downpour until she had already bustled out of the front door. Of course, she should have been more prepared - it always rained in Manchester.

"You look incredible", Elodie beamed and pulled her best friend into a hug, aweing at the plushness of her coat as she squeezed her shoulders.

"Thank you, gorgeous - you look", Willa glanced Elodie up and down before frowning, "Wet."

"I got caught in the rain", she shrugged.

"Dear, oh dear", Willa sighed and reached for her wand, waving it at her friend's face, "Arificus."

A puff of hot air dispersed from the end of Willa's wand and blew Elodie's face like a hair dryer, burning her skin raw before the gust finally dulled down. Reaching her hands up to her hair, the young girl frowned as she felt her honey locks rustled and frizzed, attempting to tame them with her fingers, but she supposed the bush of waves was much better than a soggy mess.

"How are you doing, anyway?" Willa asked, "Have you seen him yet?"

"No", Elodie sighed, "I'm not sure what I'll do when I do."

As if on cue, a figure made completely of chiselled muscle and glittering skin came strutting onto the platform, less than ten minutes before the train was due to leave. Despite the briskness of the weather, he wore his arms bare, the ivory cotton of his t-shirt clinging to the skin around his stomach as if he wanted his abdomen to show. The brooding smoulder on his face was a picture - it was like somebody had a camera pointed towards him at all times, and the expression hardly ever shifted. Sometimes it was unclear whether he was actually a real human being, or whether he was just one of the moving portraits, torn down from one of the walls.

Aspen Prescott. Slytherin, seventh year, god.

"Speak of the devil", Willa groaned and rolled her eyes to the back of the head, "I can hex him if you want."

"No, it's okay", Elodie reassured her, "I've actually been wanting to talk to him anyway - I should get it over with now, close the door before we get on the train and I have to carry it around with me for the rest of the year - can you take my stuff? I'll meet you guys on the train."

Willa nodded, and Elodie handed her the hamster cage before the young blonde hustled onto the train, leaving her standing in solitude on the gradually sparse platform. Elodie took a deep breath inwards, preparing herself to pick up her feet and approach the boy who had so recently broken her heart, but before she was able to close the distance, another figure appeared next to him and twisted her arm around his. She watched as Aspen kissed her forehead, draping an arm around her shoulders, and the two began to walk dangerously close to where Elodie stood, alone beside the train.

"Eugh, can I hex him now?" Willa's voice appeared from above her, and Elodie turned to find her with her head stuck out of the train window, "I mean, Quinn Juneberry? Talk about a downgrade, she's got nothing on you El."

"Forget about it", Elodie mumbled, reaching upwards to climb onto the train.

Feeling the anticipation of tears climbing up from her chest, the young violinist bit down on the inside of her lip and weaved through the crowds of people who bustled along the train corridor, determined to keep her composure until she had reached the correct carriage. Her friends were several compartments down from the door, and she pushed the door open and forced herself inside in a flee, slamming the door shut behind her. As she collapsed onto the soft fabric of the train seat and allowed herself to cry.

"Take no notice, ma cherie", Harper reached over to gently stroke her shoulder, "It's clear he wasn't the one your soul was searching for. Ca va aller"

"Harper, you aren't even French", Willa snapped, "Do you really think right now is the correct time to speak to her in words she can't even understand?"

"It means it's going to be okay", Harper protested, "And my mother is French, so that's the same difference."

"I wasn't talking about the French, I was talking about all that soul garble", the blonde teased, "What on earth is she supposed to do with that?"

"Stop bickering - both of you", Margot interrupted and rose to slide into the seat beside Elodie and cushion her between her arms, "Can't you see she just needs a little comfort?"

"What she needs is a strong drink", Beckett scoffed, "Shame the trolley witch doesn't sell firewhisky in that stash of hers."

Elodie watched through tear-blurred eyes as her friends flurried in their conflicting methods of comforting her, and she couldn't help but find some sense of amusement at the muddled picture. Willa was a bundled ball of fury and might, her blanket of blue fur making her look like a pygmy puff or an angered pixie; but Harper was a romantic, there was no situation that she couldn't solve with an idealised view of the world; And Margot was matter-of-fact - she didn't see the point in glamorising the ugly in things. Instead, she knew the best thing to do was to provide comfort so that those who were suffering could feel slightly more at ease in their situation.

And then, of course, there was Beckett Briggs, who didn't seem to have any solution at all. No, to Beckett, there was no comprehension of the world at all outside of anything but vibes.

"Guys, I'm fine", she sniffled and blotted the dampness beneath her eyes with a handkerchief, "I need to compose myself - I'm supposed to be in the Prefects Compartment already, Weasley will be going nuts."

"He was never worthy of you anyway", Willa scoffed, "He isn't all that, either."

Elodie chuckled from behind her tissue, "I know."

By the time the scarlet train finally pulled into Scotland later that evening, the darkness that had temporarily overtaken the train earlier had disappeared, and most of the students had forgotten about the dementor invasion almost momentarily. News had just hit the papers over the summer that notorious killer Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, and so naturally, the atmosphere on the train had been more unnerved than normal, but there was nowhere to feel safer than at Hogwarts.

The sky had started to fall into a myriad of oranges and pinks, with the warm light from the street lanterns illuminating the platform with a gentle glow, and Hogwarts felt a lot less brooding. The burly Groundskeeper had already made his way towards the train doors, lantern gripped firmly in his giant hands, calling the school's newest arrivals to gather at his feet. As student by student piled off the train, the platform was a frenzy of commotion, and in the heaps of bodies pushing their way down the train corridor Oliver had completely lost sight of his friends.

When his feet scraped against the concrete, Oliver glanced around the crowded platform with a frown. The boys had been ahead of him, but they weren't anywhere in sight now, so he was just going to have to make his way to the castle on his own. He scanned around at his options, but apart from a couple of people he recognised from classes, Percy Weasley was the only recognisable soul on the platform he could spot. He pushed his way further onto the platform, figuring the stiff Head Boy was better than nobody.

"Don't even look in his direction", he heard from behind him, "He doesn't even deserve the satisfaction of you looking his way."

His curiosity overtaking him, Oliver turned his head to subtly glance over at where the voice had come from, noticing a quarry of older Hufflepuffs standing in a huddle several feet away from him. The one who had spoken was short, with flowing blonde hair and pouting lips, and Oliver didn't have to think twice about who she was.

She was Willa Knight - and he only knew because she had flirted with him on a number of occasions over the years. But then again, that wasn't a compliment. Willa was a flirt, and she batted her eyelashes at just about everybody, if not only for a little fun, but he had never heard of her even considering allowing any of them to tie her down.

The rest of the group he didn't recognise, but he counted five of them: four women, one guy. All four women were short, apart from one, who clearly towered over the other three like a mountain. The shortest girl had jet-black hair that she had pushed back with a plaid hairband, her cheeks blushed with pink and her nose splattered with freckles. In her right hand she was clutching a book with a strange cover, one that Oliver couldn't even begin to understand, but it was certainly not something that had any relation to magic. Beside her, the tallest girl had several cat scratches on her dark skin, and her robes looked hand-sewn in places and thrown on in a hurry. But it was the guy who looked the coolest, actually - his shirt was tucked in only on one side, his tie slightly crooked, and he had a way about him that Oliver couldn't help but think seemed undeniably smooth.

It was the final girl that spoke next, another face that Oliver couldn't seem to put a name to. Her uniform was much tidier than the others, and on the left-hand side of her robes she had several different badges pinned onto the cotton fabric. Her hair was a light brown, like the colour of honey, and sat comfortably just beyond her shoulders. But most importantly, she had an odd aura surrounding her that made her seem like she radiated sunlight.

"It's just the fact he was able to move on so quickly that I'm so bothered by", Sunshine groaned to her friends, "I mean, it's my pride, really. I just feel so humiliated. I'd have felt a lot better if I'd had somebody else to waltz onto the platform like he had so I could rub it in his smug face."

They continued talking after that, but the rest of the group had continued to walk towards the carriages now, leaving Sunshine standing alone to patrol the train, and Oliver had become far too occupied in his own thoughts to pick up on anything they said further, anyway. He spotted Percy only a few metres away now, taking the severity of his job extremely seriously by the concentrated, authoritarian look on his face. Oliver approached him and tapped his shoulder.

"Say, Weasley", he gestured towards the sunshine girl with his head, "Who is that girl over there, the Hufflepuff with the shoulder-length hair?"

"Her? That's Elodie Bright", the young redhead informed him, "Head Girl, and a terrible one at that. She showed her face in the Prefects Compartment for all of ten minutes earlier, before disappearing again. Hardly helped at all during the dementor debacle."

"Perhaps she was distracted."

Percy kept talking, but Oliver had already tuned him out. He smiled and nodded as his roommate kept speaking, mumbling about something to do with Head Prefect duties and responsibility, but he didn't have it in him to say anything in response. Externally, Oliver appeared silent and withdrawn, but internally, the tiny clogs in his head were turning.

Quiet, perhaps - but inside of his head, the beginnings of a plan were brewing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE... hello hello, fancy seeing you here. ahhhhh! the beginnings of violin kisses, and the beginnings of olodie. I cannot wait to write these two to be honest - this book has been a mad one because I started it way back in 2020, and never really got very far or tried to actually write it. I even unpublished it for a little while, and then I recently rewatched the movies and the idea just came flooding back to me and I became super inspired. this chapter is SUPER long which won't be a recurring thing, most chapters will be a little shorter, but there was apt of introductory content that I didn't really want to split into separate chapters.

this is oliver's seventh year making it set during prisoner of azkaban, which explains the brief mention of the dementor appearance on the train, but the plot of POA with sirius isn't massively relevant to oliver's story so it won't be mentioned particularly often! though, of course, elodie is head girl so she will be informed of some of the sirius/dementor issues as they crop up. but this book is super fun and I really enjoy it. I was working on the playlist today and I realised oliver wood is essentially just troy bolton because all of troy's over the top basketball breakdown songs fit a little too well. like getcha head in the game, now or never, bet on it - oliver's anthems. oliver is such a babe and I think he's a great vibe but at the same time he had a slightly worrying mindset in regards to his obsessive competitiveness that wasn't really talked about in the actual books. anyway, much love! - dani xoxo