Oliver Wood was forced to take a break from playing pro Quidditch after shattering his arm and shoulder. Frustrated and angry, Wood reluctantly returns to Hogwarts as an instructor until he recovers and finally meets someone whom can heal his broken past. O/HG

Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and her affiliates.

A/N: An idea I had. I hope you like it! Feel free to e-mail me, or leave a review.

The Fast Lane

Chapter One

He didn't even see the bludger that came hurtling through the air on his blindside.

It was his first day of practicing with Puddlemore United, and he was incredibly nervous. As the rookie fresh out of school, there was almost an unendurable amount of pressure placed upon him to succeed. His sweaty palms kept slipping off the broom again and again as he slowly flew figure eight's around the giant ring-posts to shake off his nerves. The rock steady assuredness and maniacal energy he had possessed at Hogwarts seemed to slowly disparate and leave him with fatigue and nerves. He was alert and tense, all too aware that the head coach, Tom Donovan, was watching him closely to see if he would play in the first game of the season next month. His muscles were taut and his eyes were strained. But hand in hand with the nerves, a thrill went through him. This was what he loved to do, what he loved enough to dedicate his life to, and this was his thrill. He thrived on his tension and danger. But a shout from below interrupted his reverie, and Oliver only had enough time to see a blur of leather before the bludger slammed into his ribs. Time seemed to slow down as he dropped thirty feet from his broom, and then he blacked out.

Oliver unhappily carried his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, his broad shoulders jostling those of the students that were milling around Platform 9 and ¾. Most of the kids wouldn't even recognize him, except maybe some of the 7th years. He had graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago, and it seemed sort of ironic that after all he had been through, he was back at his starting place. He had worked so hard to finally make Quidditch his life, and to do this was just was so humiliating, especially for a professional… but then someone jostled his arm, and a sharp pain jolted through his arm and his shoulder, almost making him drop the box he was carrying. It was all Oliver could do not to cry out, and coming from a tall, burly Quidditch player, that's saying something.

Oliver still didn't understand why his arm was in a sling. Or the reason why a young, partly trained Mediwizard was the only one on call when he had been rushed to the clinic, half-delirious with pain. The damn wizard had healed his fractures imperfectly, and Oliver was filled with almost unendurable anger that he had to spend the year recovering at Hogwarts. He wanted to yell his frustrating to the world, but he was painfully conscious that he had to set a good example for all these kids.

He was so ashamed of himself.

Hermione's face was pink from the cold air. She was almost bursting with excitement that she was returning to the school she loved, and most importantly, to the people she loved. She hurriedly kissed her parents good-bye, and then rushed over to embrace Ron and Harry, who had been waiting for her at the door of the train.

"Hermione! You look great!" Harry said, giving her a hand with her trunk.

"Yeah, 'Mione, where you been all summer?" Ron asked, looking relieved when Hermione finally let go. He had always seemed uncomfortable around her. His lankiness and long nose were still the same, although he seemed to have gained a few more freckles over the summer.

"I went to Rome with my parents. I learned so many interesting things about vampires!" Hermione said excitedly. "And look!" she added, pointing to a badge on the front of her jacket. "Head Girl!"

"Wow," said Harry, glancing at the badge amazingly.

Ron shook his head, smiling. "I ought to start calling you Percy now… just promise me you won't instate a policy that we have to have an hour of quiet study per night… that one almost killed me. He never knew it was me that slipped the Canary Cream into his food."

Hermione grinned at him, showing all of her teeth. "Sure."

"Who's the other Head Boy?" Harry asked curiously as he started to haul his and Hermione's trunk onto the train at the same time. Hermione groaned, but before she could answer the train whistle blew a warning and all three scrambled onto the train.

"Come on," Hermione said breathlessly, as all three of them hurriedly brushed past a tall, burly person. "There's a separate compartment for the Head Boy and Girl, though I'd rather be with you guys, seeing as the other Head Boy is…." But the second whistle to the train blew, and the doors of the train closed with a small hiss.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione both hurried to claim a compartment, trying to get one before the crowds of milling students got there first.

"So, you never told us who Head Boy was," Ron continued, flopping down on one of the seats and surveying Hermione from eyes covered in messy red hair.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but just then the compartment door opened and interrupted her. She closed her mouth in exasperation and looked for the intruder.

"Oh… um, sorry, I didn't know this was taken," came a deep voice from the very tall person who had just walked in. Hermione looked up, and was surprised to find a face that looked really familiar… the tan skin, brown hair, light eyes…

"Oliver!" Harry exclaimed, standing up so abruptly he knocked Crookshanks off his lap.

I knew I knew him, Hermione thought, ignoring the slight thrill she felt run through her.

A look of comprehension seemed to dawn on Oliver's face. "Harry!" he said, a smile slowly lighting up his face as he stopped his exit. "I didn't know you still went to Hogwarts! How are you?"

Both of them shook hands and began talking rapidly, Ron standing up and closely following suit. Hermione found the conversation hard to follow.

"Pro Quidditch?"

"Yeah, the United…"

"…no, Snape's still here…"

"…Broken bones? Can't they fix that?"

"…Teacher? Defense Against the Dark Arts? No way…"

"…Damn assistant Mediwizard…"

"…Slytherin's put together a pretty good side this year, Hufflepuff's not bad…"

"…Jenna Smith? Nah, she graduated already…"

"…Ron's the Keeper now, he's not bad you know…"

"….House Cup last year, you know…"

Hermione sighed, and the three boys stopped talking.

"'Mione!" said Harry, looking surprised to see her there. "Sorry, forgot my manners… Oliver, you remember Hermione?"

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, and Hermione smiled softly, like she did whenever she got nervous around a really nice-looking guy.

"Hey, Oliver," she said. He nodded his head, looked for a few more moments, and proceeded to talk to Harry and Ron again. Hermione felt slightly put off, but shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to read a new book she had just bought. Boys. Some just don't have any manners.

A few hours later found Oliver still in their compartment. ("I should be looking for students to tell off, but you all are a lot more entertaining.") Hermione was curled up, reading a book, while the boys were still animatedly talking about Quidditch. It was amazing, the way Oliver changed whenever Quidditch was brought up. He changed from a brooding, surly man to an excited, energetic boy.

Just then their apartment door opened, and Draco Malfoy pretended to stumble in.

"Sorry, boys," he said sarcastically. "I was just polishing my Head Boy's badge and happened to stumble upon the poverty and big headedness emulating from this cabin…"

For once Ron didn't react to Malfoy's poke at him. Instead, he stared openmouthed at the gleaming badge affixed to Draco's robes'.

"Hermione, why didn't you tell us Malfoy was Head Boy?"

Hermione snapped her book shut impatiently. "I tried to," she started with exasperation. "But people kept cutting me…"

"Amazing, don't you think, how a Mudblood managed to become Head Girl," Draco started, Crabbe and Goyle flanking either side of him and looking as menacing as ever.

"Watch it, Malfoy," Oliver spoke suddenly, standing up. Draco automatically took a step back.

"Wood?" he asked disbelievingly. "What are you doing here?" His eyes trailed over the arm in the sling and the box of papers titled D.A.D.A., and his lip curled maliciously.

"Running back already? They didn't like you out on the big field?"

Oliver began to flush a deep crimson, and his fists balled up at his sides.

"Just because others are scared of your dad, Malfoy, doesn't mean I am. Your standing is shit with me. Run back to your mom, now."

Malfoy looked like he was going to reply, but Oliver took a step forward and acted like her was going to hit him in the face. He stepped back, and the compartment door slammed closed. Oliver sat back down again, visibly shaken, and it wasn't long before a clearly nervous Ron brought up the subject of Quidditch again.

But as Hermione surveyed Oliver under her lashes, she couldn't help but notice that this time his cheerfulness seemed forced, yet the pain in his eyes when Draco had taunted him had been real. She knew what it was like when someone like Draco sought out your greatest weakness and preyed upon it, and she couldn't count the number of times that he had made her doubt herself over the years. All the same, she recognized a suffering soul when she saw one, and when she returned to her book it was with a feeling of unhappiness that she couldn't place.

This would be an interesting year.

You couldn't fall in love with a teacher… right?

A/N: A short little vignette to start off with… tell me what you think. While you're at it, check out my other story.