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“What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?” Hermione whisper screamed in Oliver’s ear as she ran her fingers through his hair as he slept. “I know that you had feelings to protect. But, really, hanging off your broom by a knee and a hand in a downpour for a quaffle …”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Wood.” The clearing of a throat and soft whisper announced the arrival of a healer to the bedside. ”We need to talk about your husband’s injuries and what needs to happen when you can take him home.”
“What is different this time?” Hermione sighed as she turned to face the healer. “Oh, you're a new one. This is not Ollie’s first trip to St. Mungo's and it won’t be his last.
“Pardon?” The young Healer looked confused. “You seem almost resigned to your husband’s injuries. He has a concussion, a broken clavicle and wrist on his right side, and a broken femur on the left.”
“Let’s start this again, shall we?” Hermione stood and held her hand out to the healer. “Hermione Granger-Wood, Deputy Ministry of Magic. I am guessing that you are not a fan of quidditch since you don’t recognize my husband."
“Alice Holymead, Healer resident.” The young lady shook Hermione’s hand. “No ma’am, I have not really ever followed the sport. My brothers follow the Cannons but I have never been interested.”
“My husband is Oliver Wood, recently retired Keeper for Puddlemere United and devoted Papa.” Hermione shrugged and sat back down in the chair at Oliver’s bedside. “He has more than his share of trips to this ward for his stubbornness, both on the pitch and at home. Today’s folly was caused by his need to retrieve a quaffle from the roof for our youngest.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why was he on his broom in a downpour?” Healer Alice walked to the other side of the bed and checked Oliver’s pulse.
“Because he is stubborn and loves his children.” Hermione brought Oliver’s left hand to her lips and kissed his wedding band. “When his baby girl came crying to him because her brothers had taken her prized quaffle and thrown it onto the roof and she is not allowed to ride a broom to go and get it, Oliver would do anything to stop her tears.”
“Including getting on a broom in gale force winds?” Healer Alice looked shocked as she adjusted the covers over Oliver. “My Da always said I had to fight my own battles with my brothers, including getting back my toys on my own.”
“We usually let the children settle their own differences.” Hermione sighed as she ran a finger along Oliver’s cheek. “But his wee princess is four and not allowed to ride a broom by herself yet. Her brothers knew better than to take that particular quaffle as well.”
“Why would a quaffle be so important?” The healer sat in a chair on the other side of the bed and watched Oliver start to stir. “I may not follow quidditch, but my brothers were always coming home with a new piece of quidditch gear for their kits every time they went to London.”
“The quaffle in question happens to be the one Ollie caught right before he left the pitch the day she was born.” Hermione quietly laughed at the memory. “She came before we expected her to. We had a specially spelled Remember-All on the sidelines. He caught the quaffle before it went through a hoop, saw the ball blinking and rode his broom straight to the locker room. He arrived at St. Mungo's with his game robes flapping and the quaffle in his hand.”
“I still don’t understand.” Healer Alice turned to watch Oliver as he stirred. “Why would he risk the weather to get a quaffle?”
“Because, I have been riding brooms in foul weather since I was a First Year at Hogwarts.” Oliver’s voice was rough and his burr heavy. “I cannae stand to see my wee one so mad. Just because they are older, does nae mean they can be bullies to their sister.”
“Ollie, stay still.” Hermione tried not to smile as she watched her husband fight the covers. “Just because you can fly a broom in a storm does not mean you need to go out and get drenched to get her quaffle back.”
“I dinnae care.” He grumbled as he tried to sit up in the bed. “The storm could have taken her quaffle off and then, where would we be? You know she cannae sleep without it.”
“Her papa forgets that he retired last year.” Hermione placed a hand on Oliver’s chest to push him back into the mattress. “You are lucky you did not break your head. Just your pride and a few bones.”
“You sound too happy about that, mo ghràdh.” Oliver groaned as he turned to look at the healer. “Please tell me they have made that vile potion taste better.”
“The Skel-Gro or the headache potion?” Healer Alice tried not to laugh at the look of horror on her patient's face. “My brothers tell me that one tastes like grass and the other like regret.”
“I cannae believe I am saying this,” Oliver growled. “How many days and how often? I retired for a reason. I am too old for this amaideas*. I cannae wait to see my boys.”
“Ollie, my love,” Hermione hid her smile with her hand. “You are not allowed to kill the boys. Your fame can only get you so far.”
“I cannae kill them? Why not?” Oliver grumbled as he tried to find a comfortable position. “I understand why some creatures eat their young. If I cannae kill them, what can I do?”
“Training camp.” Hermione let her laughter fill the ward. “They want to play quidditch like Papa.”
“Training camp. I like that idea. How soon can we start?”