Edited as of:2/12/14

This story was inspired by A Seekers Troubles by Louiii. I in no way have plagiarised it, but it is where the inspiration stemmed from. This story is Oliver/OC, and I am in the process of writing this in Oliver's POV. That story is called Peace, Love and Empathy. I have changed a few things in this story, because I think that it had poor grammar and way too many band references. I wrote this at a bad point in my year, so it can get very bitter and angsty at times. I have song lyrics at the beginning for each chapter, because music (mainly Nirvana) is a big part of this story.

oOo

"I'm a brat, and I know everything and I talk back, because I ain't listening to anything you say." – Prisoner of Society by the Living End.

Chapter 1: The Lowest Form of Sportswomanship

Last year, after Alicia was ordered by her parents to quit, I was appointed the position of Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I never exactly was given the impression that Oliver Wood was particularly fond of me, but the minute I was on the team, I realised that he wasn't just not fond of me. He loathed me. Being a year younger than he is, I think he was a little annoyed that I managed to score three out of six goals under his reign of Keeper.

He said that I was appointed as a Chaser because everyone was pathetic, and I was just good in comparison. Such the charmer. It's a wonder that he has a fan club.

The loathing is mutual. I loathe Oliver Wood and his cocky, obnoxious, self-absorbed, insufferable and idiotic attitude.

That's all I was thinking as he made me run twenty laps around the Quidditch pitch. Hate. Hate. Hate. Never had I experienced so much agony. He has done the same to me for the past week. That, or I kiss my position as Chaser goodbye.

"Faster, Carter!" he yelled at me. Never in my life had I been so angry, so indomitable, so exhausted, yet I didn't stop, determined to wipe that insufferable smirk off his face...

I wiped my sweating brow and narrowed my hazel eyes at him, but from the distance we were away from each other, he couldn't see it. If he could, he would run for the hills.

One more lap... ignore the burning legs and chest... one more...

"There! Happy, Wood?" I snarled, wiping a piece of sweat-drenched hair from my eyes.

"Very," he drawled, stretching his legs out from his position under one of the goalposts. Wood stood up, stretched his arms and ruffled his hair. His deep amber eyes were looking at my doubled-over figure, the scrutiny evident. I was wheezing and coughing in the most unattractive way possible, but Wood is used to seeing me like that.

"You aren't fit enough. You shouldn't be so puffed."

I drew myself up and approached Wood, jabbing him in the chest. "Did you just call me fat?"

He rolled his eyes and took a step away from me. "I never said that, Carter. Don't put words in my mouth."

"I'll put my fist in your mouth if you ain't careful," I snarled, all breathless manner forgotten in the moment of rage.

"I'm terrified," he said sarcastically, smirking in his usual, insufferable way.

"Fuck you," I muttered, striding away from him. He grabbed my wrist, stopping me from moving.

"Is that your subconscious speaking?"

For a moment, I didn't comprehend what he was saying. Then, my lips parted in understanding, eyes narrowing.

"In your dreams, Wood. Now, if you don't mind, I am going to go and have a shower."

This time, I actually did stalk away from him. Away and straight to the showers.

I washed off all the mud from my body, the scalding hot water soothing my aching muscles.

I haven't done anything to Wood. When I first met him, I was a first year and he was a second year. We were aboard the Hogwarts Express, and I asked if I could sit with him. He gruffly shook his head and he and his friends walked out of the compartment.

Until last year, my fifth year, we didn't really have much contact or reason to speak, apart from the usual and completely uncalled for glares that he sent in my direction.

He has such a vehement hatred for me... sometimes, I wonder if I ever did anything to him. But pride gets in the way of that. I couldn't have done anything to him. He's just intolerable.

oOo

I walked into my dormitories after the shower, feeling considerably eased. My muscles didn't seem to be in spasm anymore; a good sign. I was greeted by the sight of my best friends, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, both of them huddled together, reading a muggle magazine.

Alicia and I have been friends since we were very little. She's gorgeous: blonde hair, sapphire eyes, a tall body and very obvious curves. Despite her feminine appearance, she's tough as nails. Very girly, though.

Angelina is tall, dark skinned and very authoritative. She calms down Alicia when she's in one of her sugar-hyped moods, and composes me when I'm in Rant-About-Wood mode.

"Aw, Izzy, are you okay?"

I nodded, albeit over enthusiastically. I was so exhausted that I wasn't even in the mood to rant about Oliver sodding Wood. And that is saying something, considering that he's the reason why I am so exhausted. I threw myself on the bed and closed my eyes. My tranquil thoughts were broken by Alicia speaking.

"Wood is very harsh on you, Izzy. This magazine says that guys are always meanest to the girls they like..."

I snorted derisively, my eyes still closed. "That magazine also says that sporty girls should resign themselves to the fact that boys will never like them. Not true, eh? Look at you and Fred."

I couldn't see it, but I knew that Alicia was blushing. Smirking satisfactorily to myself, I succumbed into a deep sleep.

oOo

When I awoke in the morning, I could barely walk. Damn Wood. My legs ached and I sniffed. A bloody cold just to top it all off.

When I took my usual seat next to Alicia at breakfast, I caught Wood staring- er, glaring at me. I glared back, brushing a curl from my face and narrowing my eyes to slits. That jerk will not live to see tomorrow if he makes me go through the torture of yesterday again.

Okay, it isn't as though I am a stranger to the tough gruel of Quidditch. I'm no stranger to pain, either. I've grown accustomed to the dull ache in my muscles, the hot feeling after a particularly intense Quidditch game... but this is unnecessary. Wood is torturing me with his personal vendetta against me, and I don't need to be trained as hard as he believes. Contrary to Wood's belief, I am fit. But on top of schoolwork, friend problems, Weasley Twin problems (the reason my skin was blue for a week) and Quidditch training, Wood finds it acceptable to add to my workload. I wouldn't mind if it was needed. Needless to say, I have my own ways of getting back at Wood. If it comes down to it, I will sink to the lowest form of sportswomanship: threatening to quit the team.

October-the-first resolution:

If Wood gives me anymore unnecessary shit, I will quit the team.