You were a transfer student from one of the other magic schools.

A good one, too. Especially when it came to Quidditch.

At school, Oliver Wood was the team captain, so when you started asking around about joining, everyone pointed you straight to him.

Which led to two immediate problems.

First, your English was not exactly fluent. Second, Oliver Wood had the thickest Scottish accent you had ever heard in your life.

So now, here you were, standing in front of him while he talked, catching maybe three out of every five words and trying to piece the rest together from context alone.

“So, ye’ll have tae go through tryouts, right? If yer good enough, ye make the team. What position are ye lookin’ tae play?”

He paused mid-sentence, finally noticing your completely blank expression.