NOTE - Tired from the lack of works that meet my far too high expectations and needs, I've decided to write this piece. I do not know whether I'll continue it or not. Just needed something to create and not consume. I'm not a writer, but I aspire to be one, one day.
T/W - Theodore Nott x Slytherin!OC (Athea Vale), possible friends to lovers, angst(?), Theodore's POV (written in 3rd person), Draco, Blaise, Mattheo mentioned, Theodore's late mother mentioned, Half-Italian!Theodore Nott, Theodore's father mentioned, hints of jealousy, itriedtoputsomeouncesofmeaningandhints, Mattheo's love for The Smiths
WORD COUNT - 1.7K
The moment Theodore realised he was beginning to lose memories of his mother came when he caught himself rereading the same paragraph of Il Piacere for the third time, still conflicted about his interpretation. He reached for Italian vocabulary to grasp the meaning of a single phrase âsomething that would have once come effortlessly to him. There was a time when he had known the language all too well.
A frown settles on his features, his unruly hair only adding to his irritation as he reads it one more time, growing even more annoyed than he already was.
A thud echoes through the room as he snaps the book shut and drops it onto his bed. Silence follows, making it clear that his roommates are either not back yet or have already fallen asleep. One thing he knows for sure is that Riddle is not back from his usual wanderings through the castle.
With half an hour until curfew, he pushes himself off the bed, pulls on his zip-up hoodie, and leaves the room, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. If he didnât, Blaise and Draco would most definitely complain later about the brightness disturbing their sleep. Itâs one of the few things they both have in common â being quite picky about certain things. They call it boundaries, but Mattheo couldnât care less. âBoundaries, my ass,â he once said. âWe share one room. You should grow up.â
The cold air of the Slytherin common room hits his uncovered skin immediately as he makes his way down the stairs toward the exit. His eyes briefly skim over the students scattered across the couches and carpets around the fireplace, not finding the face he is looking for. Letting out an internal sigh, he heads up the spiral staircase toward the main entrance.
All the way to the Room of Requirement, his lungs itch for nicotine and his hand for a cigarette, cursing himself for accepting a bet that forces him to stop smoking until winter break. But the mere thought of having to face the punishment makes him forget his craving for that small stick he smokes. Walk around the castle with nothing but his underwear on? He would rather take the Cruciatus Curse than go out and embarrass himself in front of the whole school.
âI know you think itâs normal for almost everyone at school to know what underwear you wear, but I have different views on that matter,â he told Mattheo, shaking his head. âYouâre welcome to do it yourself,â he adds with a small smile, before quickly following up with, âDonât.â
Mattheo lets out a dramatic sigh.
The door appears even before Theodore rounds the corner, and he slips inside after briefly glancing left and right to make sure no one is watching. Surprisingly, he has been caught by Mrs. Norris far too many times for his liking. Naturally, he has grown his own kind of hatred toward the red-eyed cat.
Inside, he is immediately met by two familiar figures standing in the middle of the room, wands drawn and stances sharp. Opposite Mattheo â who looks far too happy for a man mid-duel stands Athea. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds before shifting to Pansy, who is watching over her friends while lying on the couch.
The duelists seem too distracted by their fight to notice Theodore, but Pansy does, nodding for him to sit down. He spots a book sprawled open beside her and the rather distressed look on his friendâs face, choosing to help her out before she ends up burning the parchment.
âI donât understand why I would need a Laughing Potion when I can just watch Draco picking a fight with Potter,â she says to Theo, who has just sat down, placing a book on his lap and briefly glancing up to check on the duelists. âEssence of Insanity can be found in my motherâs daily supplements. I donât even need to learn how to brew it,â she adds, mostly just to vent about her mother, who seems to be getting on Parkinsonâs nerves far too often lately.
âWhen are these two planning on finishing their little fight?â he asks, nodding toward his out-of-breath friends before dipping his quill into the ink.
âHopefully soon, because I need to finish writing this and get my beauty sleepââ
Her reply is cut off by Theodore, whose usually unreadable face now clearly shows confusion. âYouâve got a new quill?â he suddenly asks.
âYeah, why?â She looks at him, not quite understanding what the problem is. Yes, she bought a new quill, because, being the materialist she is, she âjust had to get the one with the purple-coloured fwooper featherâ. And having a few galleons left in her pocket at the end of the Hogsmeade trip didnât exactly help (or rather, helped) her case.
Theodore sighs, a short-lived wave of disappointment passing through him, before saying, âI charmed the old one to copy from my papers.â
A sudden crashing sound draws both of their attention to the duelists: Mattheo is sprawled on the floor near the wall, while his opponent rushes toward him, her face scrunched in apology. She immediately drops to her knees to inspect whatever damage she might have caused, while he sits up, massaging his back and groaning.
âIt worked,â he murmurs through the pain, flashing her his signature smile (a bit irritating and endearing).
âWhat worked?â Pansy asks before Athea can, glancing down at her friend to make sure heâs generally okay.
Atheaâs expression doesnât soften as she continues checking his limbs, clearly worried. âMerlin, thereâs definitely something wrong with you. Why are you still smiling, idiot?â
âYou answered it yourself,â Theodore says as he steps in to help his friend up. âIdiot.â
That earns an eye roll from Riddle, who stretches his back to ease the pain. âYou were so pissed off it had to come out somehow. I helped you release the tension by baiting you into using your magic properly,â Mattheo announces proudly. He receives a smack on the shoulder from Athea, who now looks annoyed all over again.
âI wasnât pissed off,â she snaps, brows drawing together. âJust tiredâdoesnât matter. I could have seriously hurt you, idiot.â Her voice pitches higher, frustration clear. âYouâre okay, right?â
âHeâs fine,â Theodore cuts in before Mattheo can answer. âRight?â
He looks at Mattheo, who nods, who nods, but not before throwing him a suspicious look.
Of course, it isnât enough for Athea to stop worrying. The entire walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, she keeps asking if heâs really okay and insists sheâll buy him something in Hogsmeade on their next trip. Naturally, Mattheo doesnât turn down the offer of a treat.
Theodore isnât sure who heâs more irritated with â Pansy, for throwing away her perfectly functional quill; Mattheo, for dragging him out of his warm bed thirty minutes before curfew just so they wouldnât get caught again; or Athea, who is far too worried about Mattheo for his liking. Heâs perfectly fine, isnât he? Why is she acting like a bloody Hufflepuff, fussing over a grown boy?
Heâs also annoyed with himself (though he doesnât fully admit it), knowing heâs overthinking everything and that Athea is simply being the good friend she is â showing care and concern, something he knows he struggles to express.
Maybe heâs just tired and needs sleep. The first week of school must have taken its toll, especially after spending two months doing absolutely nothing stimulating for his brain: attending his fatherâs work duties, rarely meeting up with Blaise and Draco, and listening to the Muggle music Mattheo sent him.
Appreciate the music I send you, because the boys are probably one step away from telling the warden I went crazy for befriending an owl. Send my best regards to your father and write me back.
Mattheo Riddle(do you think I should change my surname?)
Theodore pulled a tape player from his trunk after making sure the wards were intact, a sign that his father was still not back. It was Mattheoâs gift for his seventeenth birthday. After discovering that Theodore read Muggle literature, Mattheo had been determined to make his friend fall in love with Muggle music.
It was, of course, dangerous â even deadly, if his father ever caught him consuming anything related to Muggles. But Theodore was careful with timings and charms, making it fairly easy to indulge his new fascination.
Sliding the tape in, he pressed âplay,â letting the tunes fill the expanse of his comically large bedroom. He could swear the air itself felt warmer, easier to breathe, as the music curled into every corner. Theo closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the castle: the Slytherin common room, sprawled on the couch opposite the fireplace, listening to whatever gossip the girls had brought today. He pictured Mattheo sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a simple pen tucked behind his ear, quill in hand, hovering over empty parchment, deep in thought. Draco was attempting to squeeze into Pansyâs seat, Blaise standing and ready to leave â he had enough noise at home with all his sisters. Warmth bloomed in Theoâs chest as he imagined Athea laughing at something only she could say, and a small smile tugged at his lips. For exactly four minutes and five seconds, the feeling of dread vanished, leaving all future worries behind.
And if a double-decker bus crashes into us
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us
To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine
Of course, a little later, when his father returned from whatever business occupied his days, the tape player would be tucked far down in the trunk, and Theodore would feel frustration, embarrassment, even, for allowing himself to relax. It was not something he should feel or was entitled to experience, not while aware of the ever-present danger, not while still living with the man who had stripped every trace of happiness from their house, starting with his mother.
L'ansia in lui era verace e l'amore per quella donna era in lui rinato veracemente; ma la espressione verbale e plastica de' sentimenti in lui era sempre cosĂŹ artificiosa, cosĂŹ lontana dalla semplicitĂ e dalla sinceritĂ , che egli ricorreva per abitudine alla preparazione anche ne' piĂč gravi commovimenti dell'animo.*
His anxiety was genuine, and his love for that woman had truly been reborn within him, but the verbal and physical expression of his feelings was always so artificial, so far removed from simplicity and sincerity, that he habitually resorted to preparation even in the most serious emotional moments.
â Il Piacere by Gabriele D'Annunzio, 1889.Â
*By the way, he was rereading this part, in case you didn't get why I attached a random text. I found this piece quite beautiful; maybe I'll read it too.
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valarr targaryen x original martell female character
friends to lovers-ish, platonic perhaps, fluff, everyone is quite happy except they all lowk hate aerion
the red keep was a labyrinth of cold stone and ancient secrets, but today, it felt unusually breathless.
prince valarr targaryen stood upon the serpentine steps, his posture a mirror image of his fatherâs â shoulders squared, hands clasped loosely behind the small of his back, chin held at a level that suggested authority without the arrogance of a tyrant. at ten and nine, the silver streak of his dark hair was kept strictly groomed, and his doublet, a deep charcoal embroidered with subtle scarlet drakes, spoke of a prince who grew up.
he was his fatherâs son. he was the heirâs heir. and he was currently fighting the urge to fidget.
"you look as though youâre preparing for a trial by combat, brother," a voice chirped from behind him.
valarr didnât turn, but a small, disciplined smile tugged at his lips. "and you look as though youâve just rolled out of a hayloft, matarys. straighten your cloak. the martells are at the gate."
matarys, three years his junior and twice as mischievous, stepped up beside him, lazily tugging at his mantle. "the martells are always at the gate, valarr. every year. itâs a wonder they donât just keep a permanent suite in the maegorâs holdfast."
"the alliance between the dragon and the sun is the bedrock of our grandfatherâs peace," valarr recited, his tone polite but firm. it was a silent judgment â a reminder that matarys should take their duties more seriously.
"aye, and nyla is the bedrock of your sanity," matarys muttered, though he wisely stepped back as the sound of hooves thundered against the cobblestones of the outer ward.
the dornish party arrived not with the slow, plodding dignity of a northern caravan, but with a rush of heat and dust. at the head of the column, flanked by her brothers, was nyla martell.
valarrâs breath caught just for a microsecond before he mastered it.
as a child, nyla had been a whirlwind of limbs and sharp questions, a girl who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of âdecorumâ. she had spent her annual visits trailing valarr through the library, mocking his serious nature until heâd been forced to hide in the maesterâs turrets just for a moment of silence. but the years had smoothed the jagged edges of her defiance.
she dismounted her sand steed with a fluid grace that made the targaryen guardsmen look clumsy. she wasn't wearing the heavy silks of a court lady. she was dressed for the road in light leathers and a flowing dornish wrap of deep orange. when she pulled back her hood, her dark hair was a mess of wind-blown curls, and her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and dancing with an old familiar light locked onto his.
valarr descended the steps.
"lady nyla," he said, his voice a rich, steady baritone. he offered a hand as she approached. "welcome back to the red keep. i trust the kingsroad was kind to you?"
nyla didn't take his hand to be helped, she took it to squeeze it, a firm, grounding grip that smelled of dust and sun-warmed citrus. "the road was long, the inns were drafty, and my brothers haven't stopped arguing about hawks since we crossed the boneway," she said, her voice smoother than he remembered, yet still carrying that rhythmic dornish lilt. "but you, valarr... you look like youâve been carved from marble since i last saw you. do you ever relax, or would the red keep crumble if you slumped your shoulders?"
valarr felt the familiar slight irritation at her lack of formality in front of the court, which he also loved. he knew she did it to provoke the 'prince' in him, to find the boy underneath.
"the keep is sturdy enough," valarr replied with a faint, knowing smirk. "but my father would certainly have words if i greeted the daughter of dorne like a common stable boy."
"heâd probably just laugh and offer me a cup of wine," nyla countered, stepping closer. the height difference had changed; she had to look up at him now, but she didn't seem the least bit intimidated. "youâve grown, valarr."
"as have you," he murmured. she was still a fire, but it was a controlled one now.
"martells!"
the greeting was shrill and cut through the air like a blade. from the shadow of the colonnade, aerion emerged, his silver hair shimmering. behind him walked daeron, looking half-awake and already bored.
valarrâs jaw tightened imperceptibly. he loved his cousins, but aerion was a storm he often had to weather.
"the dornish rose has returned to the briar patch," aerion said, his eyes raking over nyla with a look that was far too bold. "tell me, nyla, does the sun truly make the blood run hotter, or is that just a story told to keep us northerners interested?"
nyla didnât flinch. she turned her head slowly, giving aerion a look of such profound, silent boredom that even valarr felt a pang of vicarious embarrassment for his cousin.
"the sun mostly just makes people sweat, prince aerion," nyla said coolly. "perhaps thatâs why you look so... uncomfortable?"
matarys let out a muffled snort. valarr stepped forward, subtly placing himself between nyla and aerionâs sharp gaze.
"my cousins were just leaving for the training yards," valarr said, his tone perfectly polite, though his eyes were steel as they met aerionâs. "weren't you? we wouldn't want to keep the master-at-arms waiting."
aerion lingered for a moment, his smile lingering on nyla a second too long, before he turned on his heel. daeron followed with a sympathetic shrug toward valarr.
once they were out of earshot, valarr turned back to nyla. he felt a sudden, inexplicable need to apologize for his kin, for the court, for the very stone walls that seemed too grey for her.
"forgive him," valarr said softly. "he forgets himself."
"he doesn't," nyla replied, her voice dropping to a private volume meant only for him. "he knows exactly what heâs doing. but don't worry, valarr. i didn't come all this way to let a brightflame singe my skirts." she reached out, her fingers grazing the fine wool of his sleeve. "i came to see my friend. are you still in there, or have you become entirely made of duty?"
valarr looked down at her, the princeâs mask slipping just a fraction. he saw the girl who used to challenge him to races she knew sheâd win, and the woman who now saw through his every defense.
"i am still here, nyla," he admitted, a genuine warmth breaking through his reserved exterior. "but youâll find that duty is a very jealous master."
"then itâs a good thing iâve always been terrible at sharing," she teased, offering him her arm. "walk me to the gardens? i need to see something that isn't the color of a rainy morning."
valarr nodded, his heart beating a rhythm that felt far more like a martell drum than a targaryen march. "it would be my honor. but first we meet the king."
summary: ever since your first year at Hogwarts you've spent every Christmas break at the castle, and also reluctanctly throwing quaffles at Oliver Wood so he can practice. You don't even like Quidditch, and you don't like each other much either, but it somehow feels like you can't stay away from each other even after spring comes
content: slow burn, reluctant friends to lovers; fake dating ?) kinda; dumber & dumber
an: so the original fic was too long at 27k so I'll have to split it in both parts! the second part will be released next week!
wc: 16k
[part 1]
âAre you free?â
The question had been asked in an almost demanding way. You had looked up from your book, slightly annoyed that even in a practically empty dorm during Christmas break you were still being interrupted. To be fair, it's not like you were reading it; you had been thirty minutes on the same page. The boy was standing behind the couch you were sitting on, a quaffle under his arm and eyes fixed on you as he waited for an answer. You sized him up and down, hoping to remember his name by the time you got back to his face.
âWhy?â
He threw the quaffle in the air, almost failed to catch it properly, and did his best to play it cool.
âI need someone to throw at me so I can practiseâ
You pushed yourself onto your elbows and cranked your neck to look out of the tall window behind you. Contrasted to the inside of the cosy Common Room warmly lit and covered in Christmas decorations, the bleak sunlight that barely managed to push its way through the curtains was anything but inviting.
âItâs freezing outside.â
The boy stayed quiet, his eyes drifting to the window for a single second, then back to you.
âSo?â
âDo you even know me?â
He fell silent once more, staring at you like he was trying really hard to remember if he did.
âYou are the one who almost tripped during the Sorting Hat thingâ
That you had done, and after months you had almost started to stop mortifying yourself over it. You laid back down, propping the book back in front of your face so he couldn't see how badly your face was burning.
"I'll pass, I get cold easily"
"Don't you want to invest in the future of the team?"
"You are not even on the team, you are a first year"
"I'll be one in the future"
âThereâll be no future for you if you go outside now. Youâll freeze to deathâ
All you heard after that was an indignant sigh, the sound of footsteps over the carpet, and the familiar drag of stone over stone of the Common Room door opening and closing. You let your book drop open over your chest once again, eyes on the ceiling and taking in the silence that had settled back on the room after the brief encounter. Far from going back to the comfort you had been submerged in, you felt yourself become restless. You never really understood why, or maybe you did and didn't want to think much about it, but eventually you walked up to your room, left the book over your bed, and grabbed your things.
When you got to the pitch you had believed it to be empty at first. Thinking back on it you could still recall the scent of grass and pure cold, sharp and almost painful as you breathed it in. A dense fog had settled in the early morning and hadn't dissipated yet, and it made your skin feel unpleasantly damp as you walked through it. It wasnât until you had looked up that you had seen him flying in circles around the arena, his body cutting through the mist and leaving a faint trail behind him. He stopped when he saw you and dived directly in front of you. Despite miscalculating a bit and almost tripping over his own feet, you couldn't deny you were impressed by his flying. You thought he seemed kind of cool.
âTook you long enoughâ that comment changed your mind, almost making you turn around âWe can do drills now, come onâ
âAre we allowed to do this?â
âDonât worry about itâ
He got on his broom and lifted himself from the ground with more ease than youâd have thought, given his rough landing. You got on your own, the cold biting at your fingertips that were already numb as they wrapped around the front of your broomstick. Your mind became busy trying to remember the flying lessons you had taken that past semester, these lessons the very few you had gotten a really good grade on so far.
âI donât know how to play, thoughâ you said as you managed to fly by his side.
âNo worriesâ he handed you the quaffle, which felt lighter than you had expected in your hands âJust throw this to the rings, past meâ He flew a few feet ahead of you and stood in front of one of the big hoops that you had never expected to be that big up-close. Holding the quaffle with only one hand threw you a bit off balance, which you were able to recover from after a brief second of panic âYou okay?â
âIâm fineâ you lied, wondering if he had heard the pathetic cry you had let out a moment ago. If he had he didnât comment on it, but judging by how he was flying backwards to where had been hovering a moment ago, you could guess he had.
You threw the quaffle forward, the ball barely making it halfway to Oliver before falling down without much speed nor force. You both watched it plunge onto the ground in complete silence.
âYouâre really bad at thisâ he stated matter-of-factly.
You gripped the shaft of the broom tightly, embarrassed.
âI told you! And shut up, I saw you trip over when you landed!â
âThatâs--!â Oliver's nostrils flared with a sharp inhale before exhaling deeply and diving down. He brought the quaffle back to you, his fingertips gracing yours for a split second. The wrinkles drawing the scowl on his face softened for a moment, then he cleared his voice âLetâs just go downâ
He started going down and you followed suit, thinking that he had given up all together, but he just set his broom on the ground and waited for you.
âAre we done?â you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
Oliver shook his head âFirst I need you to be able to throw a proper quaffle, otherwise you are uselessâ
âThatâs what I said!â and it still annoyed you when he said it.
âSo you understandâ Oliver measured his steps to stand at a good distance away from you âTry to make it get past meâ
You gripped the quaffle with both hands before throwing it again, it barely made it to him, his hands once again catching it with ease.
âCan you throw a little harder?â He passed it to you. You had to admit you refused to throw properly as a form of quiet protest at first, but after being unable to make a good throw even when trying, it started to bother you. It seemed to be getting on his nerves too âAre you taking the piss?â he complained as he gave you back the ball âCome on!â
And at that, with as much strength and frustration as you had, you threw the Quaffle towards him. That one time he caught it with his face. The scowl on your face disappeared the moment you saw him fall backwards with a pained groan. You had run to him, knees digging in the dirt as you knelt by his side as he held his face.
âIâm so sorry!â you cried, hands hovering above his body âAre you alright?â
Oliver let out another prolonged groan, followed for what you thought was a chuckle as he rolled to his side.
âThat was a good oneâ the sight of blood dripping from his nose to his smile made you wince âThrow like that againâ
It should have made you feel relieved, just how amused he had sounded at the time, but instead it had scared you greatly. You were sure he had gone insane, and as you dragged him to the Hospital Wing you convinced yourself that it was your fault. Your quaffle had definitely somehow hurt his brain. Eventually youâd come to find out you hadnât in fact hurt his brain; thatâs just how Oliver Wood was, and sadly for you he had just found out that you had a good arm for a chaser.
The next morning you had almost expected him to be waiting for you in the Common Room again, but he wasnât there. He was however sitting at the table when you entered the Great Hall for breakfast, lazily waving at you, his nose in perfect condition. There was no reason to not sit with him, you thought, given the fact you were the only two people there at the table. It would have been way too run to not sit with him, and so you took the seat opposite of him.
âWhen did you get here?â
âAn hour agoâ he answered âIâm an early riserâ
âWe are on vacation, you knowâ
âYou might be. Iâm busyâ
Your eyebrow rose sceptically, but he wasnât really looking at you. His eyes were set on the open sports section of The Prophet that lay on the table, a wet circle forming where he had accidentally rested his pumpkin juice cup a few minutes ago.
âGood for youâ
You looked for the plate of toast, finding it near Oliver. When he saw you reaching for it, he handed it in your direction.
âWill you throw at me today?â
âWhy would I?â
Oliver moved the plate out of your reach, the scowl you directed his way matching his.
âOi, be niceâ
âYou be nice. I already helped you yesterdayâ
âYou broke my noseâ
âIt wasnât broken...â you muttered, still ashamed of the whole situation.
âYou owe me. And also, do you have anything better to do?â you didnât, and it bothered you that he seemed to know that âCome on, we are the only ones hereâ he pleaded, finally handing you the plate, a few pieces of toast falling onto the table as he did.
âWhat does it matter if I suck at it? You are not going to get any good practice out of meâ
âAt least itâll be some practice. Please, itâll only be until the end of the breakâ
You had agreed if only so you could have a quiet breakfast and ease the guilt that had been settling within your chest since the day prior. You hadnât had it, actually, as he had hurried you to finish so you both could go to the pit and start your practice of the day.
That first Christmas there had been a few gifts left at the bottom of your bed from your parents, and one of them was given to you by Oliver himself. It was a piece of parchment with a big scribble in the middle of it.
âThanksâ you took a long look at it, rotating it in your hands a few times âWhat is it?â
Oliverâs pleased smile had faltered a bit.
âMy autograph. For when Iâm famousâ
âA famous what? Idiot?â
âQuidditch player, you-- give it to me!â he demanded but didnât really attempt to take it from you. Instead, you handed it to him, which seemed to irritate him even further âDonât give it back!â
âYou just told me to!â
âYou are going to keep it!â he protested as he ran up the stairs towards his room, face flushed with indignation.
With only a sacred couple of days before classes started again and students came back to the castle, you had finally gone back to using brooms during practice. It had been going alright, with you even starting to enjoy yourself, even if youâd never let him know that, when Oliver had suddenly stilled. Barely a second later he had plunged against you and dragged you to the ground, underneath the bleachers. He put his hand over your mouth, predicting a complaint.
âCome onâ he whispered.
He had grabbed your wrist and quietly got you out of the pit with careful steps. Once you had reached the exit, he had urged you to run towards the castle as quickly as you could. In the open field, however, you were easy to spot, and it soon became obvious what you were running away from: Filch.
âWhy is he following us?â you asked, slightly panicked.
âProbably because we are not supposed to fly on our ownâ answered Oliver, a bit out of breath a few steps ahead of you.
âWhat?â you hurried just so you could hit his shoulder âYou said it was allowed!â
âNo, I said not to worry.â
A few insults left your mouth, but you were so out of breath he probably couldnât make out any of them. As you turned a corner, you were both stopped in your tracks by the familiar sight of McGonagallâs feather hat, making you turn around, but not before she had seen you. You both ran and ran through multiple hallways before Oliver tugged you inside the boys' bathroom. You both entered one of the multiple stalls, and he hushed you again, raising his finger to his lips. You slapped it away.
âI knowâ you whispered angrily âWhy did I do this?â you lamented, your head falling down in distress.
The idea of getting in trouble made your stomach twist and turn. You had made sure to be a good student, not a smart one or a talented one, just proper. There wasnât much you could excel at, after all. Your heads perked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the tip-tap of her shoes against marble floor echoing through the room. You closed your eyes and then heard the door of the stall open, but to your surprise it wasnât by McGonagallâs hand. Oliver had opened the door and gone outside, closing it behind him and leaving you there. You heard a deep sigh and then the stern tone of reproach of your teacher.
âMr. Wood. I should have known.â She didnât sound surprised at all.
âIâm sorry, Professor; I just wanted to practiseâ he apologized âI donât have anyone to play with, so I decided to fly on my own.â
McGonagall said nothing for a few seconds, and you unconsciously backed down inside the stall. You were sure she must have heard you. With your heart in your throat, you held your breath until you heard her speak again.
âIâll be taking twenty points from Gryffindor and five supplementary days of detention once classes resume, Mr. Woodâ
Your grip on the broomstick tightened, your eyes shutting tightly as you debated. Then you opened the stall door and they both turned to you. A surprised Oliver shook his head slightly at you, and McGonagall didnât seem surprised to see you.
âIt was also my fault, Professorâ you said, your voice quiet and obviously scared. Still, you pushed through it âIf I hadnât played with him, he wouldnât have been outside. We wouldnât have beenâ
âThatâs not true! I made her come with meâ
âEnoughâ spoke McGonagall, and you both fell silent under her beady stare âThatâll be ten points then. Three days of detention. And no flying lessons for the first week of the semesterâ
âWhat?â protested Oliver, and you tugged at his sleeve to shut him up.
âWhatâs wrong, Mr. Wood? You already practised enough during the break to make up for itâ
When classes resumed, you both had to sit quietly in one corner of the inner patio as everyone else practiced their flying. Madame Hooch didnât look pleased when she found out she would have to sit her best flyer for the first week of the semester and kept stealing glances at you both when sheâd give tips, as if saying it louder would make it easier for Oliver to understand. As if she could teach him something he hadnât already taught himself. You, in the meantime, were quietly picking at the grass.
âIâm sorry you are missing class because of meâ he said âEven if it is your faultâ You turned to give him an annoyed look âWhat? I tried to save you.â
That was true, and every passing day made you feel worse that you had yet to thank him for it. You hoped that your stepping in had made it clear to him.
âItâs okay. I donât even like this class that much.â
The rest of that school year you had still helped Oliver practice, even if you hadnât been able to fly around. A few times he had tried to get you to sneak out in the middle of the night to go down to the pit, and of course you had shoved him away and told him to get lost.
âDo you want to get detention again?â
âCome on, it wasnât that bad.â
âMaybe for you! Also, you said youâd only make me help you until classes started again.â
Oliver looked away, brows furrowed.
âFine, whatever.â
The next day rumor went around that he had gotten caught and given two weeks' detention and cost Gryffindor fifty points. Some people were really mad at him, and others found it particularly amusing. You couldnât help the smile that spread on your face when you said:
âTold you soâ
Your second year had started with hopes of a better time. Peace had lasted about five hours, until Oliver had caught up to you in the Common Room. You had entered the room full of students. The plan was to walk up to your room and go to bed, that was until someone grabbed your hand. It was Oliver, who had reached out for you over the couch he was sitting at.
âOi. What about a âhelloâ?
You stared at him, then at his two friends who were watching the scene. It made your cheeks turn red. You hadnât been sure if heâd have wanted to talk to you after you had served your purpose, and you couldnât decide whether or not you were happy he was.Â
âHelloâ
You wouldnât tell him that despite your cold response you had looked forward to run into him at the train, which had not happened. You had spotted him at the table, your head turning away when you had seen him look in your direction.
âTry-outs are next weekâ he said excitedly, his hand squeezing your wrist for a brief second âYou coming?â
âFor what?â
He looked confused.
âFor chaser, duhâ
âI have no interest in playing Quidditch, I told youâ
âI thought I had changed your mindâ
His friends exchanged a confused glance and broke out into poorly concealed chuckles. An unpleasant tingling feeling started to creep up your neck.
âNot at allâ you got out of Oliverâs grip âGood luck, thoughâ
He watched you walk away, brows furrowed and lips slanted.
âYeah, whateverâ
Despite the lack of communication between the two of you on your day-to-day life, you had actually dragged yourself to the Gryffindor try-outs. You werenât sure if you wanted to wish him luck or if you didnât want him to see you at all. You didnât have to decide, though, as he saw you on his way to the rings as he flew past the bleachers. He did a double take, and you gave him an awkward smile and a thumbs up, immediately regretting both actions. When the try-outs had finished, he had flown directly to you, ignoring the instructions to go back to the ground and leave the equipment.
âI thought you didnât care about Quidditchâ
You stood up from your seat.
âI donâtâ
âIs that so? Then why are you here?â he teased, a knowing smile plastered on his sweaty face.
You gave him a once over âI just wanted to see how stupid you look in that ridiculous outfitâ
Oliverâs cocky smile faded away.
âItâs protective gear! Donât be rude just because you are worried youâll suck!â
âUnlike you, I know I suck!â
âI didnât suck!â He took a moment, then he sounded worried âWait, did I suck? You donât think Iâll make the team?â You didnât say anything as you walked away, even when you heard him call out your name, with multiple people looking at the both of you now âDo I suck?!â
âWelcome backâ
That was the first thing Oliver had heard when he woke up in the Hospital Wing, recognizing your voice before his vision had even adjusted. His mouth was dry, but he pushed through so he could ask:
âDid we win?â
âOliver, youâve been unconscious for a week.â
âSo did we win?â
You wanted to stay serious given the circumstances, but you were relieved he seemed to be back to normal.
âYou lost,â you said, as softly as you could.
Oliverâs hands moved to bury his face in them, shaking slightly as they hadnât moved in days.
âItâs all my faultâ he mumbled.
âSort of... without a keeper, the defence was a bit... lackingâ that was a very nice way to hide the two hundred points Ravenclaw had scored from them after he had fallen âIf it makes you feel any better, I donât think youâd have helped muchâ
You were hoping heâd get mad and throw you one of his familiar sharp looks, but instead he let out a long groan.
âI should have kept a better eye on my blind spots. Iâm weak on my left, I know thatâ
He really was getting worked up right after waking up from a coma. You couldnât help but crack a smile with a light chuckle. Oliver peeked at you through his fingers, his brows furrowing upon seeing your amused expression.
âWhatâs funny?â
âNothing, Iâm just glad you are fineâ You could see Oliverâs face slowly turning red, his eyes darting around the room as if embarrassed. His silence made you nervous, quickly changing your tone âIâm going to miss your silence, thoughâ
âWhatever, what day is it?â
âTuesdayâ
Oliver looked out of the window at his side, sunlight cast through the stone floor, reflecting a hundred dust particles that shone under it like distant stars.
âIt must be around twelve in the morningâ
âItâs four, Oliverâ he looked at you out of the corner of his eye âHow could I be here if it was twelve on a Tuesd--â
âI got it already!â he protested, and you held back a laugh âThat means I got practice todayâ
He lifted the bedsheets off him, still weak, but with way more strength than you had thought heâd had.
âWhat are you doing?â You stood up from the chair youâd sat in for the last week, hands in the air as if you were about to tackle him.
âIâve got practiseâ
âYou need to rest!â
âIâve already rested for a week, you said!â
âNo, youâve been unconscious for a week! Now you need to rest!â
Madame Pomfrey came to you when she heard the ruckus. She didnât look very pleased with Oliver.
âHe can goâ she said with a gesture of the hand.
âWhat?â
âThank youâ
You stared at Oliver and back at her in shock.
âBut-- He just woke up!â
âOh, heâll be fine, childâ she said without even a look your way as she peeled the bedsheets off the bed Oliver had been resting at with a swift of her wand âI need all the beds after that incident in potions class tooâ
When you had turned around, you had noticed Oliver was already going through the door of the Hospital Wing. You hurried to follow and catch up to him and continued to follow him down the hallway and towards your Common Room.
âAre you going to keep following me?â he asked, attempting to go faster.
âMaybe I just want to see how you faint againâ
He stopped in his tracks, making you trip over your own feet as you did too. He turned slightly towards you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
âWas it really, like... embarrassing?â
You caught your breath as you wondered what the best course of action was. It was the first time you had seen him make an expression like that.
âNoâ you lied âNo one was looking at you, so no one noticedâ Oliver rolled his eyes and started walking with haste again âI was joking! Everyone saw, okay?â
âThatâs worse!â he protested, his voice calling the attention of various students that were passing by in the hallway.
âWhat do you want me to say?!â
âNothing! Leave me alone!â
âFine! I donât have to look after you now that you are awake anyway!â You stopped, and with one last look at the back of his head, you started walking away in the opposite direction. âI liked you more when you were unconscious!â
Oliver turned around with some unsavoury words to say back, but then noticed you werenât there.
You had sat on the grass for a while before you had started to become restless. Maybe you had been rude, but it is not like he had been very nice either. You had spent all week checking on him, and this is how he treated you after waking up? And yet your foot kept bouncing as you kept wondering where he was. Well, you knew where he was, but the question was what state he was in. What if he fell from a broom again? What if he got hit by a ball again? With a frustrated groan, you stood up from where you sat and started marching towards the pit where the Gryffindor team was practicing. As you scanned the air, you didnât find him up there, instead you could see him pouting on the bleachers from all the way down on the ground. When you made your way to him, you noticed his broom lying on the bench, he was wearing full gear except for his headset that rested on his lap. He looked up at you with no sign of hostility before looking down again.
âIâll take it they didnât let you playâ you said as you sat down next to him.
âThey said it is for my own goodâ he answered in an almost mocking way.
âThey are rightâ
He shook his head disapprovingly âUnbelievableâ
You took in a deep breath âI fear the day they make you captainâ you sighed.
Oliverâs head snapped towards you, and he blinked a few times as he stared at you.
âYou think Iâll make captain?â he asked somewhat coyly.
The sudden shift in tone surprised you, and you looked away before he could notice you were happy he wasnât mad at you anymore.
âI assumed youâd kill them all if they didnâtâ
Oliverâs face broke into a smile, the first one you had seen since he had waved at you before his first Quidditch game.
âIâd let myself playâ
âThatâs what worries meâ
A figure made its way to the both of you, heavy boots making the frail wooden floor shake as they stepped into it.
âStill sulking?â the boy had asked Oliver with an easygoing smile.
âNo, sirâ
âHe isâ
You were surprised by how well-mannered Oliver had turned almost immediately, but you couldnât say you blamed him. For a while you had only seen Charlie Weasley from afar, all you had known about him was what Oliver had said to you after he had made the team. Even if you hadnât heard about how cool he was a thousand times already, the older boy had a strong presence that was hard to ignore up close.
âYou know I canât let you practise today. Next time, okay?â
âBut we donât have practice until Friday!â
âIs that so?â he taunted. He reached behind his head and let his long red hair cascade down his shoulders before tying it again in a messy ponytail. He called you by your name, which made Oliver frown in confusion âCan you do me a favor? Keep an eye on him a bit longerâ
âSo you are grounding the both of us?â
Charlie roared with laughter, and chuckled timidly, proud that you had gotten it out of him.
âJust for today, okay?â
Charlie got back on his broom and after he had left, Oliver nudged you on the side, maybe  a bit too hard.
âHow does he know your name?â
You shrugged, recoiling into yourself after a particular gust of wind kissed every bit of exposed skin âHe asked for itâ
âWhen?â
âWhen I was wait--â you bit your tongue âWhen I visited you while you were out like a lightâ
âOh, okayâ he looked forward, eyes following the shapes of is teammates as they crossed the sky in a blur âHow often did you visit me?â
Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze discreetly fell to the way you were twisting your hands in search for warmth and maybe something else.
âJust a fewâ
He had remained strangely quiet until the time you had stood up and gone to study to the library. He refused when you asked him to come along and proceeded to be in a mood the rest of the day, barely touching his food and going to bed without saying much to you or anyone else. You had sat next to him during Transfiguration, hoping that maybe heâd be in a better mood that day, or at least more talkative. Even if he was annoying.
âDo you want to practise later?â you whispered, a bit scared McGonagall would hear.
Oliver didnât react much, but you noticed the way his eyebrows rose slightly, barely hiding behind his overgrown bangs.
âWhy?â
You bit the inside of your cheek. You werenât sure either.
âBecause you couldnât practice yesterdayâ
Oliver cracked the faintest of smiles before he looked down at his table again, the smile disappearing.
âCharlie said I shouldnât force myself until Fridayâ
âI wonât tell him if you donâtâ
You saw the way his eyes turned into crescents, a poorly repressed smile lighting up his face with the same warmth as morning sun. It had been a while since you had gotten on a broom and helped Oliver, even if he sometimes bugged you to do so when no one else entertained him. To be fair, it had been a while since you had got on a broom at all. You were displeased to find out that you had actually missed it and that the activity actually had started to be fun. Charlie Weasley had showed up and called out to you both from the ground, Oliver so shocked he had dropped the Quaffle from up in the air. Charlie caught it effortlessly, his easygoing smile making the tip of your ears feel scalding hot.
âDo you both know how much trouble you could get in for this? â he asked loud enough for you both to hear him. Despite Oliver disobeying him and Charlie being a prefect, he didnât seem all that angry.
âTen points from Gryffindorâ you answered.
âAnd five days detentionâ added Oliver.
âCome down hereâ Charlie ordered with a light chuckle. When you both had landed on the ground, he gave you a once-over that made you dizzy and then asked âDo you play?â
âNoâ said both of you in unison, âshe sucks, to be honestâ added Oliver.
âWe need a seeker on the team. We are at a severe disadvantage just by not having oneâ explained Charlie, arms crossed across his chest and eyes fixed on you.
âSheâs more of a chaserâ interjected Oliver âSheâs good. Sort ofâ
âIâm just good at throwing Quaffles at youâ
Charlie ignored your banter âWhat about trying it? This Fridayâ
Oliver answered before you had time to panic at the idea âYeah!â
âHold on, I--â you stammered, the idea of having to fly in front of a bunch of people you didnât know and watching you fail making your stomach turn.
âJust once, pleaseâ pleaded Charlie, and you felt heat creep up all the way from your chest up your cheeks at the gentleness of his stare âIf you donât like it, I wonât force you. Promiseâ
âYeah, come on!â nudged Oliver âYour broomâs not too badâ
âWe have the same broomâ
âYeah, but mineâs betterâ
Charlie eyed you both with a smile.
âThe team chemistry already looks great. So what do you say? See you there?â
You forced yourself to face him again, not being able to hide yourself behind your banter with Oliver any longer. You nodded timidly.
âYeah, okayâ
âGreat!â Charlie celebrated, and he gave you a handshake. His hands were warm and calloused, and the blush rose to the tips of your ears âSee you guys there. Make sure to give her a hand with the equipment, okay?â
âYessir!â
The days leading to practice, Oliver had been around you more than usual and even more enthusiastic, if that was even possible. He had cheerfully followed you to the library and pushed Quidditch books under your nose as you tried to finish your Charms paper. By the time Friday rolled around, you had both had gotten called out during class at least five times daily, detention looming over your heads if you bickered in class one more time.
âThis is going to be greatâ he had repeated for the twenty-fifth time that day.
âIâm going to suckâ you kept repeating, your forehead resting against the wooden table you sat at your Herbology lesson.
âCan you stop saying that?â Oliver groaned, displeased by how down you had been acting since you had agreed to join âI mean yes, you will, but you can train. Iâll train you!â
âThat sounds like a threatâ
âYou might be really good, but you wonât know until you tryâ
You didnât think it was possible for Oliver to understand what self-doubt was. He was so overconfident it was almost admirable, if it wasnât because it was first and foremost incredibly annoying.
âWhat if Iâm not?â
âThen keep tryingâ
âWhat if I donât like it?â
âImpossible!â
Walking into the changing room felt like stepping into a minefield. Everybody was already inside, moving around and chatting with a familiarity that was foreign to you. You didnât know where your gear was, where you were supposed to sit, or where you were supposed to place your broom. Charlie had come behind you and stopped all actions in the room to introduce you to the team, strange eyes settling on you and making your blood turn cold. All the way through it you were trying to make out if his hand resting on your shoulder was comforting or making your nervousness worse. He had given you a strong pat on the back and told you to get into the provisional uniform, which you thought was ugly and unflattering and smelled like dirty laundry. Charlie didnât look bad in it, you thought as you stared at him as you put on your gloves. Oliver stood in front of you, blocking the view and taking one of the gloves from your hand.
âGive them to meâ
You gave him a look âI know how to put on glovesâ
Oliver looked up at you âYeah? Because you are doing it wrongâ Looking down, you noticed you were in fact trying to put your right glove on your left hand âJust relax, okay?â he said, halfway through annoyed and nervous himself.
You swallowed, your mouth dry âWorried that Iâll embarrass you?â
âIâm more embarrassed about the glovesâ he joked, finally managing to help you put the gloves on âSeriously, I donât understand why you have to be so pessimistic. Itâs just practice. Just do itâ
âEverything alright?â Charlie had approached you both âIâm going to release the snitch after we start practice and time how long it takes you to catch it. Okay? You have all the time in the world, just go after it when you see itâ
He made it sound so easy, and you couldnât help but smile âYeah, coolâ
Oliverâs arms rose in protest.
âThatâs what Iâve been saying!â
Practice was a bit more chaotic than youâd have expected it to be. Everybody flew around, at times so close to you it made you lose a bit of balance. In the background you could hear Charlie yelling orders and the occasional whistle of a bludger passing by you at a speed you werenât sure was even possible. When you had caught sight of the snitch and attempted to catch it, you had in fact got in the way of one, sending your broom and yourself towards the ground with an embarrassing cry. You didnât have time to be embarrassed however, the world swallowed into a whirlwind of shapes and colors until your body hit the ground with a blunt pain that spread out through your chest and made it hard to breathe. The entire team had nosedived towards you, and you didnât notice the pain until someone had asked you:
âAre you okay?â
You coughed a few times, the words scratching at your throat and the shock of the impact flooding your lungs..
âMy legâ
Oliver had landed on the ground and discarded his broom unceremoniously before he pushed through his teammates to get to you..
âIâll take her to Pomfreyâ he said as he grabbed your hand and slithered his arm behind your back with the other, liftting you from the ground.
âShe canât walkâ Charlie said after seeing how your body recoiled at any attempt of setting your right foot on the ground.
Charlie silently took your from oliverâs grip, his fingers reflexively holding onto he loose fabric of your uniform for a second longer before he let Charlie take you into his arms. Oliver trailed behind you two all the way to the Hospital Wing, guilt sewn on his face.
âYou two again!â Madame Pomfreyâs small glassy eyes darted between you and Oliver, veiny time-nicked hands placed at her hips.
Charlie had placed you on the bed, your hands grabbing at the coarse cloth of his uniform with the very little ounces of dignity you had left. He walked away with Madame Pomfrey as she scolded him for bringing yet another injured second-year to her quarters, leaving you and Oliver by yourself.
âThis seems familiarâ you said with a casual smile that took way too much effort.
âIt is not funnyâ said Oliver, surprisingly serious.
He was standing by you, restless fingers toying with the fabric of his cape and not looking at you. For a moment you thought he was mad at you for falling, that maybe he was embarrassed that you hadnât lasted barely ten minutes on your broom.
âIt wasnât funny when you were here eitherâ you muttered defensively, throat hot with shame. You missed the way his expression softened âAt least Iâm awake. I saw you drool, that was funnyâ
The sentence caught Oliver so off guard he actually laughed out loud. Maybe he wasnât that mad at you.
âI assume you wonât be our seekerâ he eventually said, words slipping through his lips in a downcast whisper.
âDo you want me to be? I just embarrassed myself out there. And everybody saw. I mean itâs fun when itâs the two of usâ you muttered before looking away âKind of. At least no one can see how much I suck thenâ
âI can see how much you suckâ
âI am aware of that!â
Charlie clapped his hands as he approached, interrupting your quarrelling. He sported a small sloped smile, the guilt weighting at the corners of his eyes making your heart sink.
âOkay, so Madame Pomfrey is ready to fix your femur, but talking from experience... it is not going to be pleasantâ Fear was apparent on your face, and you could see the guilt tugging at Charlieâs features and dragging them into a frown âDo you want to hold my hand?â
A blush crept up your tear-stained face, and no matter how much you liked the idea, you didnât really want for Charlie to see you in the state youâd be once Pomfrey got her hands on you.
âI think I should hold Oliverâs, I donât mind hurting his handâ
You forced a laugh, which Charlie reciprocated with a bit of relief. You expected to see Oliver scowling at you when you turned to stare at him, a witty comeback ready at his lips. Instead he had his palm resignedly hanging in the air, ready for you to hold onto it and eyes lost somewhere in the other corner of the room.
âAre you gonna take it or not?â he complained after youâd been gazing at him for a few seconds âI look stupid like thisâ
You had spent the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing, getting discharged right in time for dinner. Oliver had stayed by your side, and you had been sure Pomfrey had let you go earlier because she couldnât deal with your bickering any longer. The next day Oliver had been considerate enough to not ask you to practice with him and had even suggested that you both could do something you wanted to do. After pondering for a second, you had told him you wanted to study, which he had a very understandable reaction to.
âIt is not like I want toâ you complained too âBut my grades are not doing great and for some reason you are smartâ
âStudying is not that hard, just read the chapters and thatâs itâ
âI hate people like youâ
âWhat does that mean?â
You had spent that afternoon sitting in the Common Room studying, taking advantage of the fact that most students above your year were on their trip to Hogsmeade. To your surprise Oliver hadnât complained much during the study session, and youâd come to find out he was pretty much okay with all subjects. Shortly after the clock had struck four, a group of older students had come through the Fat Lady, their animated chatter breaking the comforting silence and irking you almost immediately. Then you saw Charlie, who, after spotting you both, approached with quick step.
âHereâ he handed you a colorful bag full of different candy and shiny wrapping paper âIâm sorry about yesterday. Are you feeling alright?â
âYeah, it doesnât hurt at all.â
You took the bag in your hands, and Oliver didnât waste any time in taking one of them for himself.
âOliver tells me you probably wonât be playing with usâ He saw your eyes fall down to the ground and immediately tried to ease your guilt âThatâs okay, really. You werenât flying so badly, though, you have good eyesâ
Oliver interjected as he unwrapped the candy in his hands. You had forgotten he was sitting right next to you âShe got some good reflexes or somethingâ
âI wouldnât mind trying to play againâ
Both Oliver and Charlie had been surprised by your statement, but if they had any opposition to it they hadnât say. Oliver was ecstatic about the prospects of having a full team, and the idea of seeing Charlie twice a week was enough to make the year pass by in the blink of an eye. That Christmas you didnât need to stay at Hogwarts, but Oliver said he would be staying over again in a few passing comments. Now that he had made the team, he was allowed to be on the pitch, and he wanted to take advantage of that as much as he could. He hadnât asked you to stay, not directly at least. He would just repeat how heâd be playing by himself for the upcoming weeks in a loud voice to anyone who wouldnât ask him if you happened to be around. Little did he know that you had already made up your mind to stay and make him company, even if you wouldnât admit it to him or even to yourself. There was another reason whoever; the idea that youâd be playing your first official game once Christmas break was over haunted you.
It had been on a slow winter day that you had accompanied Oliver once again on his flying drills. You rested on the grass of the pitch, nightfall falling upon you in shades of violet early in the evening in a sight too beautiful for Oliver and you to not sit and take in. Your gaze fell down at the bleachers, slowly turning around and taking in the sheer enormity of the place.
âThis is going to be full of people...â
You felt the familiar pressure on your chest, and you took in a deep, slow breath before your heart started racing all the way up to your throat.
âNo oneâs going to be looking at youâ Oliver interjected, anticipating the mood you were about to get in. Then he fell quiet for a moment âDo you know how many stars there are in the sky?â
âIâm not taking astronomy next yearâ
âDo you know how many or not?â
Confused at his sudden outburst you turned to him, but he looked away. You shrugged âI donât knowâ
âExactlyâ
âAre you alright?â
âThere are like, a thousand stars in the sky, but you donât know that because you are never paying attention to themâ
Your expression twisted in confusion before you briefly looked up at the sky, now darker and impossibly cold.
âIâm pretty sure there are more than a thousand--â
âWhat Iâm trying to say isâ he interrupted with a tad of frustration in his voice. You could tell this was taking a lot of effort from him âJust donât pay attention to the people. Once you are in the game, youâll block them out and--â
With a gasp Oliver cut himself out, looking at you for a short moment before looking away again, fingers digging slightly onto the grass.
â...and?â
Oliver bit his bottom teeth, eyes narrowing as if he was debating whether or not he should say whatever it was that was eating at him and making his face turn red.
âJust, look at me and Iâll give you a thumbs up or something if you get nervous. I donât knowâ
A soft chilling breeze caressed both of your faces, dragging the smell of winter and freshly cut grass with it. It filled your chest with something familiar, something comforting. Neither of you said anything as you stared at each other for a moment, Oliverâs features so familiar by now you could distinguish them even engulfed in shadows. And after that moment had passed, he stood up with a small grunt and you cleared your throat, strangely overwhelmed.
âYou should take astronomy next yearâ you joked, and you saw Oliverâs jaw ease as his lip stretched into a relieved smile.
Your first game was a loss, not entirely your fault. That was the last game of the season, and the rest of the year passed without much noise.
Things had changed a but on your third year. The Quidditch team had grown a bit: Charlie had brought in Alicia Spinnet as a reserve as well as his twin younger brothers. The last two had been an addition that while welcome had been chaotic, their energy and the tension they brought were hard to match by anyone else. Luckily for all of you, Charlie had enough experience to keep them in check. You had been watching him scold George after practice as you took of your Quidditch boots. His hair had gotten a bit longer during the summer, and you were sure a few more freckles had blossomed over his sun-kissed skin as well.
The first game of the season had been Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff, and that had been the first win you had experienced. It had been a whirlwind of cheers and hands grabbing at your shoulders and arms being passed around them in celebration. Amidst all of it you had seen Oliverâs smile, wide and happier than you had ever seen it like a beacon through the blur of red and gold. Your eyes had met, and for a single moment it felt like time had stilled and the yellow sun become almost blinding as Oliverâs smile widened. As you walked back to the locker room, still carried by adrenaline and euphoria, Charlie had approached you and passed his arm around your shoulders, shaking you playfully.
âWell played kidâ
He looked down at you with a smile as bright his hair gleaming under the bright sunlight, and you thanked God that your face was already as flushed as it could be.
âI didnât catch the snitchâ
âEh, who cares. The other guy caught it at the wrong time, so, it still countsâ
Charlie gave you another shake and took off, walking faster to high-five Bailey who was pouring some water over his head. Fred and George Weasley passed by you, turning to you with grins that stretched across their freckled faces.
âYou must be so happyâ Fred teased, mockery stretching that âsoâ impossibly thin. They were obviously delighted by the sight of your flustered expression.
You had been looking for a witty comeback when Oliver had spawned next to you, steps heavy and his characteristic scowl drawn on his face.
âLeave her alone!â Oliver said, and you felt yourself wanting to crawl onto the ground.
âYou are making it worse!â you hushed him, embarrassed.
His eyes fell to you, now the target of his piercing glare. When had he gotten so tall? âHow am I making it worse?â
âI donât know, it just feels worseâ He stared at you for a moment, and then you realized that despite his eyes being set on your face, he wasnât really looking at you. His lips were pressed in a thin line, gaze scanning your face as if looking for something beyond the surface. Getting nervous under the pressing attention and confused at his serious look, you elbowed him playfully âYou do know we won, right?â
âYeah, yeah. Was just thinking about somethingâ
It wasnât until the animated chatter had died down in the changing room that you had gotten a glimpse of what had been causing Oliver so much turmoil even amidst the celebrations of his first win ever. He had approached Charlie with a stance that while not unusual, had made alarm bells go off in your head.
âCan I ask you something?â
âSure, shootâ
Charlie had taken off the top part of his uniform, sweater rilling up his torso. The sight distracted you for a few seconds before, to your dismay, Oliver had stood in front of him with a firm stance.
âWhy is Alicia on reserve?â
Charlieâs eyebrows sank for a moment before they shoot up again with a casual smile.
âWe already have three chasers in the starting rosterâ he answered plainly.
âBut heâs better than Bailey. You should switch themâ
While not really loud, it seemed like everybody had been able to tune in into the conversation. The loud chatter had died down slowly, everybody distracted by the conversation taking place at the front of the room. Charlie took a look around the room and breathed in calmly, big arms crossed over his chest.
âAlicia is still learning, and Bailey has been on the team with me since the beginningâ
âThen thatâs just embarrassing. Four years, and this is as good as he can get?â He protested, âYou canât let sentimentalism get in the way of the Quidditch Cupâ
Charlieâs eyes fell on the chaser, whose knuckles cracked in the dead silence of the room. Emeric Bailey was a big guy, bigger than any boy in his year. Or any year for that matter. But Oliver wasnât one to get scared by that sort of thing. You didnât know if he was just that brave or if he simply didnât have any survival instincts.
âYouâve got a problem, Wood?â Bailey stood up, walking menacingly until his tall figure loomed over Oliver who didnât even flinch. You were by Oliver in only a few steps, not sure of what you were even going to do if the situation were to escalate.
âYeahâ he said to Bailey with a short glance before he turned back to Charlie, his dismissiveness aggravating him âAnd so should youâ
âEmericâ Charlie raised a hand to Bialey, who had gotten dangerously close to Oliver âI understand your concerns, Oliver, but I am the captainâ he said with subdued demand.
âThen act like one!â
âOliver!â You reached for his hand, attempting to make him back up âWe just won, canât you--?â
âAm I wrong?â he turned to the team, his hand escaping your grasp. No one said anything, exchanging awkward glances or staring at the ground under the weight of Oliverâs gaze upon them. He turned to you then, eyes wide and brows furrowed âAm I?â
You took in a sharp breath. Oliver got a bit overwhelming when he got that intense. His eyes searched yours then just as they had done a few minutes before on your way to the changing room, still looking for something you were ignorant to. Oliver turned around with an exasperated groan, bumping Baileyâs shoulder with his on his way out of the room.
Later that night, during dinner, Oliver had sat all the way on the other side of the table, far away from anyone on the Quidditch team. Not like any of them were really looking for him, by then everybody aware of how dangerous it was to get in Oliverâs way when he got in one of his moods. Regardless, you sat next to him.
âI donât want to talkâ he had announced before you had had time sat down on your seat.
âI didnât say anything yetâ
âYeah, you are good at thatâ
You sighed deeply, hands dragging across your face.
âWhat did you want me to say?â
âThat Iâm rightâ he said matter-of-factly âYou know I amâ
âWhether you are or notââ
âI amâ
â--you canât just say something like that in front of everyone! You should have spoken with Charlie in privateâ Oliver scoffed when you mentioned the name, earning an inquisitive glance from you âWhat?â
âOf course you are siding with himâ he said, voice muffled by his cup of pumpkin juice.
âIâm not siding with him!â you protested, indignant and also confused. It wasnât like Oliver to doubt Charlie.
âWell, you didnât side with me either. You just didnât want Charlie to be mad at youâ
âWhatâs that even supposed to mean?â
âYou know heâs too old for you, right? Heâs in sixth gradeâ
Your mouth hung open a few seconds, completely at a loss for words. You nervously looked around, a few students nearby that had their eyes on you turning away immediately. Your first reaction was one of shock, followed by indignation. You made your best effort to feign ignorance and hoped he couldnât see the scorching-like blush spreading through your cheeks.
âWhat are you talking about?â you muttered.
âCharlieâ You swallowed, so drily it hurt. Oliver hadnât noticed your feelings for an entire year, and now he was suddenly calling you out on them âFred said you fancy himâ
âWh--â you stammered âWhat does that brain for rocks know?â
âRocks for brainsâ
âThatâs what Iâm sayingâ
âHe said you look at him with a dumb look on your faceâ Oliver explained drily, that ever-present sternness in his voice rumbling underneath it âI told him you are just dumbâ
âI-- whatever. That has nothing to do with the Bailey thingâ you tried to steer the conversation back to the original conversation, fighting the urge to simply run away.
âIs that why you joined the team? Because you fancy him?â
Your face snapped towards him, so fast that for a split second he worried it might have hurt you.
âWhy are you being such a jerk?â
âUhm, excuse me, guys.â You were both too absorbed in your argument to notice Alicia Spinnet right away, only turning to her when she had poked Oliverâs shoulder âSorry to... interrupt? But Iâve been looking for you. I wanted to say thank you for saying Iâm good beforeâ
Oliverâs anger seemed to dissipate, if only a bit, enough to not bark at Alicia. You handnât really taken a good look at her on the three times you had seen her during practice, Quidditch gear famously as unflattering as wearing a paper bag over your head. She still wore her light brown hair in a ponytail whose perfect shape you were sure had to be charmed, and you sort of wished you could ask her for it. She had a longish face with soft, refined features and a few freckles peppered through it, a lovely choice of earrings dangling from her ears with a pleasant chime you remember faintly hearing during practice.
âNo bother, you are just really goodâ Alicia smiled âIs this your first year trying?â
âYes, I had never tried for the team. Charlie recruited me after a mock game in the yard with some friendsâ
âHe seems to do that a lotâ Oliver looked your way âAt least this time it worked outâ
You had had enough. You stood up from your seat so quickly it made some of the cutlery clatter loudly as your body hit the table.
âYou suckâ
âNo, you suck! Thatâs why we never win!â
âPiss off!â
The day after, Oliver was already sitting on your shared desk during Charms when you walked in. You gave him a short glance and sat next to him without a word, dragging the chair as far away from him as the desk allowed. He had tried to speak to you right when the professor had walked through the door with a cheerful greeting. Oliverâs impatience had allowed him to last for about ten minutes before he leaned towards you.
âYou have no right to be mad at me. Because Iâm mad at youâ
Your hand stilled in the middle of a sentence.
âWhy the hell are you mad at me? Are you dumb?â
âYou are dumb!â he looked around warily âYou lied to meâ
âAbout what?â
âCharlie?â
âThat? Thought you were mad about Bailey. Also, I never lied to you because you never askedâ
He observed your quill drag across your parchment, a few spots of dry ink spotting your fingertips.
âWhy are you even mad at me?â
âWhy?â You finally turned to him, the hand holding your quill resting on the table with a moderately loud thud that made Oliver retract a bit. You looked around and then lowered your voice âYou accused me of siding with Charlie just because-- Because I fancy himâ
Oliverâs eyes darted nervously around your features, his jaw twitching in a sign of obvious annoyance. He could tell you were upset, maybe more you ever had. He couldnât remember if you had ever stared at him with such a expression, and for split second it worried him. Still, he was too stubborn.
âYou didâ
âNo, I didnât!â
Professor Filtchwick interrupted the class to give you a stern warning and you apologized, way too upset to feel any sort of mortification. When your classmatesâ heads had turned back towards the front of the class Oliver scooted closer, decided to continue the argument: to win it.
âYou were supposed to side with me. I am your friendâ
âSo why donât you act like it?â you spat, and you could see the words rippling through him âThe point isnât whether Bailey sucks or not. I donât like how you just said all that in front of everyone. You need to start thinking about other people before you do stuff like that. How do you think Bailey felt?â
âLike a loser, I sâpposeâ he tried to defend his stance, but it was obvious by the way his eyes were fixed on the desk and his hands intertwined that your words were getting to him.
âYou are impossibleâ you simply said after a pause that felt particularly long âI guess Iâll just quit the team tooâ
Oliverâs head snapped up, eyes scanning your face quickly for any sign of truth. You had already brought your attention back to your book.
âWhat are you talking about?â
âSince I am also a loser who canât playâ
âI never said thatâ
âIsnât that what you meant? When you said Charlie recruiting people didnât work outâ Oliverâs mouth opened and closed a few times.
âThatâs-- thatâs not what I--â
âOh, so now you feel bad for me? Well, you can keep itâ There was no way for Oliver to miss the anger in your mockery, but it didnât bother him as much as when your voice became smaller and softer when you said âI already know what you think of meâ
âIs there anything you two would like to share with the class?â Professor Filtchwickâs voice called from the front of the class, everybody else now silently staring at you.
When he had asked you to change seats you slammed your textbook close and picked up your things, too angry to feel any type of shame.
âWith pleasureâ
For the next few weeks you had been anything but cold to Oliver. He seemed relieved enough that you were still coming to practice, making multiple attempts to start small conversations with you as if testing the waters.
âYou are going fast todayâ
It wasnât just you, though. The whole team felt a bit on edge since that confrontation in the changing room, and Charlieâs easygoing charisma was stalling. Bailey became a bit more aggressive during practice, throwing directly at Oliver, who on more than one occasion had lost his temper.
âOi, watch it!â
âMy bad, mate. Iâm just really bad at thisâ
âGuys, come onâ
Charlie looked stressed out of his mind. You wished you could say something to him, but there was nothing you could say that would cheer him up. To your surprise, he had been the one to approach you a few days later during your first Hogsmeade trip. At first you had opted not to go, but the day before the trip, as McGonagall had reminded you of the time and place to meet, Oliver had looked over his shoulder at you. He had been doing that a lot since you had changed seats in every class, not like you hadnât yourself. You had never noticed how you both had naturally come to sit together during every subject, and now that you werenât the room seemed colder somehow.
âCan I talk to you?â Charlie had asked as he matched your pace down the pebbled road. He had jogged towards you amidst the sea of students, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his jacket and Gryffindor scarf tightly tied around his neck. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he had spawned next to you. He had taken your stunned silence as an affirmative, when in reality you were captivated by the way the snowflakes rested on his hair, catching the light and making them sparkle like diamonds âI was wondering if you could talk to Oliverâ
The mention of his name immediately grounded you to reality, the change in your expression not going unnoticed by him.
âIâm not currently talking to himâ
âIâm aware. Didnât want to pryâ
âItâs whateverâ you shrugged, knowing you couldnât speak to him about it anyway. Deep down the fact he cared enough to ask was enough for you âWhat do you want to talk about?â
âAbout the team. I need him to start focusing on teamwork. We both know heâs not the most... people-sensitiveâ
âIâm aware. The worst thing is that he doesnât say these things with malice, heâs just dumbâ Charlie had wanted to laugh at that, but he had judged that you were too upset for that to be appropriate âWhat do you want me to do about it?â
To this he simply shrugged âHe listens to you. And you are good with peopleâ
âIâm really notâ
âWell, you are better than him. I need someone to keep him in check next yearâ You had thought about telling him you were planning on quitting, but maybe it wasnât the best time. Also, you didnât want to make him sad âCanât have a captain that doesnât get along with his team.â
Your heels dig into the ground, stopping you in place like someone had hexed you. A group of fifth years had to walk around you, and Charlie turned around with a knowing smile.
âYou are making Oliver captain?â
âYeah. Should I not?â
You remained silent for a few seconds, for the first time in your life able to hold eye contact with Charlie without feeling your whole body burn up.
âWhy?â you finally asked.
âWho else?â He noticed the small smile that you were trying to fight, even if you hated yourself for it. He started walking again âDo me a favour, donât tell him about it. Just keep an eye on himâ he stopped, then turned to you âWhen he apologises for whatever it is he did to you, that isâ
He had then gone inside The Three Broomsticks to meet with his friends, and you had waved him goodbye as you made your way to Honeydukes. The number of students you could see through the window was a tad overwhelming, but you still went inside, not wanting to miss the opportunity to get a few sweets for yourself. At least you knew you wouldnât run into Oliver there, since he disliked them so vehemently. The door opened with a chime, and after barely taking three steps inside, the sound resonated through the store again.
âWhat were you talking about with Charlie out there?â
You turned around with a fright, Oliverâs voice so close it had almost felt like he had spoken inside of your mind. He was just way too close. His cheeks and nose were red and bitten by the cold, and he was wearing the trapper hat you had told him multiple times was too big on him. âItâll growâ he had said, refusing to use a charm to make it fit out of sheer stubbornness. He watched your eyes scan him with familiarity, and he knew you were biting down at least three insults to throw at him.
âNothingâ
You attempted to continue browsing through the store, but he followed behind you. Your silence made him nervous.
âWere you talking about me?â
âMaybeâ
You squeezed yourself through a group of older students that didnât make any effort to let you pass. Oliver pushed through them, earning a few groans.
âAm-- am I getting kicked out, or?â
It was then when the Weasley twins had run into you.
âLook at thisâ said Fred before he swallowed a candy that made fireworks come out of his ears âCool, isnât it?â
âYou have to pay for thatâ you scolded him.
âCome on, loosen up!â he said, still smiling, pushing you playfully.
âWatch it, Weasley,â Oliver warned, standing by your side.
The twins walked away snickering after giving you both a quick glance.
Wait.
You pushed through the crowd, leaving a confused Oliver behind and unable to follow you. When you had reached the twins, they were about to disappear behind a more empty corner of the store. You grab onto one of their sleeves, making him turn towards you.
âWhat are you two doing here?â
âOh, you noticed?â
They didnât seem alarmed. If anything, they looked proud.
âYou canât be here! Youâll get in troubleâ
âSo...â they exchanged a confused look âDonât tell on us?â
âI donât need to! You are in the openâ
âNo one noticedâ said Fred.
âOr they wonât tellâ added George.
âHow did you even get here?â
âThatâs a secret we canât tellâ
âWhat about Oliver?â you asked.
âWhat about him?â
âHe also saw youâ
âYeah... letâs just say we are not concerned about his deduction skills. So donât tell him either!â
âWhatever, I donât careâ
âCome on, at least care a little! Itâs boring otherwiseâ protested George âDonât tell Charlie thoughâ
Fred dramatically put his hand on his brotherâs shoulder.
âWe mustnât, remember?â
âOhâ exclaimed George, matching the level of ridiculousness Fred had set up âTrue, Iâm sorryâ
âWhat?â
âNothing, nothing. We are not allowed to mention Charlie to you. Woodâs ordersâ
You bit your tongue, and not standing their mocking smiles any longer, you simply walked away. Oliver found you again among the sea of students and made his way to you, helped by the width his shoulders had acquired during the previous summer. His hand grabbed onto your arm immediately, as if worried youâd just disappear again.
âWhere did you go?â
âNever mindâ
He let go of your arm when you had yanked it maybe a bit harder than you had wanted. It hadnât hurt him necessarily, at least not anywhere visible. You started to push through students again and towards the door with Oliver never losing sight of you until you pushed the wooden door that opened with the familiar chime. The contrast of the warmth indoors and the coldness of the outside made you shudder and you uselessly braced yourself against it.
âAre you going to tell me whatâs going on? I see you talking to Charlie and now the twins?â
You closed your eyes tightly. After all he had said and done, this was what worried him?
âYou are not getting kicked out of the team, stupidâ you said, and despite how annoyed he was by the insult, you could see relief wash over his face âHeâs going to make you captainâ
The ever-present scowl on his face vanished and gave place to a blank expression. His lashes fluttered a few times as he walked towards you in some sort of trance.
âWhat?â
âBut he canât do it unless you stop acting like a total dickheadâ
The insult knocked some sense into him âDid he call me a dickhead?â
âNo, I am calling you a dickhead. Everyone else thinks you are one too, thoughâ
âDo they? Why?â
âBecause you act like one! How can you not know?â
âWell-- Canât I be honest?â
âYou can, but you can also be nicer about it. If you continue to be like this next year, people are going to quit the team because of you!â
Oliverâs lips pursed into a thin line and his brow creased a bit.
âLike you?â
The way he had asked you had managed to disarm you a bit. It hadnât been a tone of reproach but an honest question that seemed heavy on his lips. His eyes stole a glance at you before going back to the ground where snow piled at your feet. He knew your feet and hands were going to be frozen by the time the trip was over.
âIâm not quitting yetâ you muttered.
A small flash of relief gleamed through Oliverâs eyes before his brows pressed on them again.
âBecause of Charlieâ
You gritted your teeth, sighing deeply.
âActually? Yeah. Because heâs a good captain, and I donât want to let him downâ
âBecause you fancy himâ he said through his teeth, so low you werenât sure you were meant to hear it. He didnât even seem to want to say it, the words leaving his mouth like they were straining him.
âYou know what? Why donât you think about why I want to quit first? The only reason why I want to quit is because of you!â You walked forward and pushed his shoulder; he barely moved, yet he winced âYou always have something mean to say about my flying even though you were the one who made me play!â
Oliver brought his hand where you had pushed him, even though it didnât hurt him much. His eyes said otherwise.
âI didnât know it bothered you that muchâ he said. Far from trying to defend himself, he seemed actually puzzled âWhat I saidâ
âOf course it does! And now you accuse me of-- of what? Playing because of Charlie? Â Because I like him? Okay, I do! You are still the reason why I play so what does that even matter?â
Oliver stayed in stunned silence, his slightly wide eyes boring into yours as he saw you catch your breath. Your hair, shaken by the wind, rested unceremoniously over your flushed face. Your lips, dry and your scarf resting undone almost halfway to the snowed ground. The snow. Just how cold--
âIâm sorryâ
Now that you werenât expecting. Your breathing that had accelerated significantly started heaving on your chest, and your frostbitten fingers that had balled into fists had started to hurt. It wasnât usual for Oliver to apologize; you were sure you had never heard him do it before. It was obvious to you he actually meant it too, the way his gaze searched into yours for any sign of forgiveness, making the anger quickly dissipate.
âPeople are staring. Letâs goâ
You tugged at his sleeve and started pulling him down the street. For a while you just held onto him, hoping that itâd be enough to let him know it was okay now. Oliver and you were really good at fighting with each other, but you had never had to properly make amends. Eventually you let go, the both of you walking around the street without a destination, arms bumping into each other.
âHow am I supposed to know what to say?â he finally asked âTo people and stuffâ
âI donât know, Oliver...â You fell silent for a while âRemember when you taught me to throw during first year? You were nice. Sort ofâ
âEven though you suckedâ
âEven though I sucked, yes, exactlyâ you tried not to smile, but he caught onto it, his shoulders lowering a bit âSo what about next time you feel like being brutally honest you think you are talking to first-year-me?â
He took a quick glance at you.
âThat might workâ
Your last game of the year had been against Slytherin and took place during mid-May. To say that you had been floored would be putting it kindly. Charlie had to say his goodbyes to the team in the changing room and also announced that Oliver would be the captain next year. Oliver had walked up to the front of the room, and despite his imposing presence and perfect stance, you could tell he was nervous, if even just a bit.
âIâll do my best. I hope some of you can help me be a better captain. I canât wait to play with you next year. All of youâ
Despite how hard you had tried to keep it together, you had found yourself quietly tearing up. You hadnât wanted to attach yourself much to the team, and in a way you definitely didnât care as much as other members did, but you had never slacked off. It still made you feel terrible, the loss, and the fact that those people would be having such a hard time now. Did not being as hurt make you a bad person? You certainly seemed to think so, and after one tear fell down, you couldnât contain the rest. Oliver sat next to you, his weight making the old bench creak loudly.
âIâm sorryâ you found yourself saying, voice cracked.
Oliverâs hands halted as he untied his boot, and out of the corner of your eye you saw him looking at you.
âIt is not your faultâ
You nodded, your throat closing so as to not let a loud cry come out. You inhaled deeply, feeling yourself suffocate.
âI tried hardâ you whimpered, and brought your hand up to rub at the bottom of your nose.
Besides you, Oliver felt himself smile.
âI never thought youâd get to care so much about Quidditchâ you hid your face behind your hands and finally let out a sob âItâs creepy how happy it makes me to see you cryâ
Oliver scooted closer to you and passed his arm over your shoulders, shaking you playfully.
âIt was funâ you said behind your hands, your breathing still uneven.
âYeah, it was...â You felt Oliverâs thumb drawing small circles over your shoulder, and under the circumstances you found it surprisingly soothing âWhat about you stay a bit longer? Until we find someoneâ
Fourth year rolled around, and it started with a bang. Oliver had made it very clear that he wanted Alicia Spinnet to be part of the team right away, and alongside her had come Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. Of course, the main star had been none other than Harry Potter, who youâd been more than okay with giving your position to. The team seemed to finally make a bit more sense, and you hated to admit that maybe Oliverâs scouting senses were better than Charlieâs had been. The air around Oliver had shifted somehow, even if he was still the same blunt, big-headed idiot.
He would still orbitate during meals, however there were at least three other people between you two at any given time. The free time you both had spent practicing and letting Oliver chew your ear off about quidditch was now exchanged for watching Gryffindorâs practice from the bleachers. Now as an outsider looking in, it was evident Oliver had changed, the same way a painting can only truly be appreciated when you take a few steps back to observe in its entirety. His stance was taller and if you hadnât known him so well, âimposingâ would have been another way to describe the way he soared through the pitch. His boyish features had hardened, long locks of dark hair framing the sharp edges that now matched the harshness behind his eyes.
You had returned to the common room after a solo study session at the library, the contrast of the silence youâd grown accustomed to against the lively air within the Gryffindor quarters a bit jarring at first. You glanced around the room on your way to your dorm, catching sight of Oliver and Alicia sitting on the couch, a few open notebooks open in the small space between their bodies. You recognized them as Oliverâs game plans; it had been a while since he had asked you for your take on them. Granted, you never really had anything to say, your knowledge on quidditch years behind anything that would be useful to Oliver. You had slowed your walk to the stone staircase, wishing in the back of your mind that heâd catch a glimpse of you and lift his head to call out to you, but he didnât.
On Wednesday after class Oliver had asked you if you wanted to go with him to Spinwitches during the Hogsmeade trip, and you had had to suppress the genuine surprise it had caused you. Once you were there, though, you realized the whole Quidditch team was coming with. You were walking a few steps behind, watching the way Alicia kept bumping into Oliverâs side as they talked animatedly about something you had no interest in. Your eyes fixated on the way your shoes dug into the soft snow, your skirt swayed by the wind that caressed your legs and chilled them to the bone. You had started to regret wearing it, but that didnât have much to do with the cold. You heard Alicia laugh and watched her as she bumped her fist against Oliverâs shoulder, the hit surely softened by his padded jacket. The sight made anger seethe in your stomach, not really sure what about it annoyed you so much. Or maybe you did.
Maybe you had started to suspect it.
The store was the same as when you had visited last time. It had become a habit that every Hogsmeade visit Oliver would drag you inside by the scarf. You had complained and whined every single time, but now as he didnât spare a single look your way to make sure you were coming with, you found yourself missing it.
âWhy are you in such a mood?â
You snapped out of it when Oliver had asked you that. You had been browsing the store for ten minutes on your own, much like everyone else, before he had come at you with an attitude.
âWhat? Iâm notâ
You had in fact been in a sour mood, but you had done a good job of hiding it. Or so you had thought at the time.
âYouâve been quiet all day... just tagging along and stuffâ
âWhen havenât I been doing that?â you asked, a bit more defensive than you had wanted âItâs not like you need my opinion for the broom thing. Youâve already decided on itâ
Your finger pointed at the broom in his hand, but your eyes betrayed you for a short second as they flickered past him to where Alicia and Angelina were snickering in a corner.
âI could still get your inputâ
You stared at the broom, then shrugged.
âYeah, I like itâ
âAnd you wonder why I donât care about your inputâ
You felt your jaw tense, a strange feeling coming over you: it was guilt, embarrassment and remorse all mixed into a sour taste in your mouth.
âMaybe Iâm in a mood, you are rightâ you admitted âIâll cool off. See you laterâ
You had to stop yourself from wishing he had followed you when you had pushed the heavy wooden door and walked into the busy street. Why did you have to ruin a nice day with your sulking? Why did you have to find fault with your friend enjoying othersâ company? Was this the kind of person you wanted to become, or were you just unable to keep your own selfish feelings in check?
For a while you walked around, finally settling on a stone bench on the side of a particularly busy road. The lullaby of animated chatter and the pleasant sound of footsteps burying in the snow comforting enough to calm your accelerated heartbeat, your eyes closing as you basked in the pale winter sun. You took in a deep breath and exhaled, the sharp scent of pure cold filling your lungs. You could stay there for a while, you though. By yourself but not completely alone, that seemed pleasant enough. Your head would turn from time to time, as if you were expecting to see someone. Someone that might have been looking for you. No one like that showed up, though, and you tried not to feel too bad about that. Things might have started to change, and youâd have to be okay with that. Oliver would be busy from then on. Despite his hard-to-deal-with temperament, the truth was he had always been easy to like; after all, you wouldnât have stuck by his side had it been any other way. You had had your time, but it was time to let him go--
âWhat do you think you are doing?â
Your eyes fluttered open, your reverie interrupted. A confused Oliver was looming over you, brows furrowed and staring at you like you had lost your mind. He was still holding his broom in his hand, now wrapped in a protective case.
â...Thinking?â
âHope it is about funeral arrangements because you are going to freeze your arse to deathâ after a short beat, you snorted out a laugh. His gaze lowered to your exposed legs and the way your skirt rilled up slightly as you sat on the bench, his cheeks burning up despite the crisp wind whistling past you âDonât laugh! Get up!â
âWhat?â
âAll this cooling off nonsense. Whateverâ He grabbed your arm and made you stand up. He stared at you like you had spawned horns âYouâve been acting weird all dayâ
âYeah, I guessâ
âWhatâs wrong?â
Itâs not like you could tell him you missed him. Even as he stood in front of you, cheeks and nosetip bitten by the cold, tousled hair and chapped lips. Even if you could reach your hand and brush your numb fingertips against his skin, pleading for warmth. Still, you missed him.
âI like being your friendâ
The words escaped your lips, the sound of your own voice startling you as they rang through the both of you. Immediately after they had been spoken you had felt nausea and embarrassment clog at the back of your throat. You werenât unfamiliar with this sort of feeling, the overwhelming brief instances of fondness and need to tell him such things something you were used to. However you had always been able to keep them buried down. Oliverâs expression didnât change much, but for a small fraction of a second there was something there you hadnât quite seen before.
âMe tooâ then it was gone again âWhatâs going on?â
You shrugged, his sympathetic stare making the regret easier to swallow.
âIâm not sureâ you admit, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips âI donât want to mess up the outing, though. You should go back to the group, Iâm going to go have a walkâ
âIf you want a walk, we can have a walk. Iâm not leaving you alone hereâ
He wouldnât tell you, and he probably wouldnât know himself, but he would never leave you by yourself when it was so cold, and you were so alone and looking so pretty on your short skirt and your lumpy mascara.
You both had spent only an hour longer around Hogsmeade, Oliver growing tired of dragging his broom around, when you had both taken one of the first carriages back. By the time you were back, the mood in the Common Room was strangely subdued. There were a few first years doing their homework on the big table, a small group by the windowsill and some sparce students reading in the couch. Oliver and you had opted for sitting on the carpet near the fire. Well, he had insisted in you sitting by the fire while he would keep you company admiring his new broom. For a while you both sat in silence amidst the animated chatter of the room, exchanging a few looks from time to time. It felt strangely calming, warmth coming back to you by the time the Common Room opened followed by the ruckus of the third years and up coming back. Oliver and you exchanged a knowing look, as if you both had been thinking the same thing. It was long until a few people joined you, whatever spell had fallen upon you two broken.
The morning students were appointed to leave the Castle for Christmas break, something had soured the taste of pumpkin pie in your mouth before you could even swallow it.
âCan I talk to you for a second?â
You didnât even know how you had managed to pick on it. Her voice hadnât been loud, if anything, she had been so quiet you were surprised even Oliver had heard her. He had been sitting a bit away from you on the other side of the table, and yet you somehow had hear her clear as day.
âSureâ
You had subtly looked up, enough to see Alicia nervously brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
âCould we go somewhere else?â
You felt your stomach drop, the pumpkin pie you had stopped chewing seemed almost suffocating to swallow. You made the mistake of locking eyes with Fred Weasley, who for some reason you wanted to pretend you couldnât understand, was already staring at you. Oliver stood up from his seat and followed Alicia until they were out of the room. You saw Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell exchanging knowing smiles, and you let your fork hit the table. Fred Weasley sat next to you, his back against the table, taking way more space than he needed.
âAre you goign to stay here?â he asked quietly, the familiar irking hint of mockery still noticeable in his voice.
âYour sweater is touching my foodâ
âIâd go, personallyâ he awaited for an answer, but when you said nothing he added âDo you want me to go?â Your face twisted a bit, and Fredâs face lit up as if that was the answer he had been waiting âIâll go thenâ
He stood up, and when you protested that just made him start running. Embarrassed but desperate enough, you ran after him, only being able to keep up with him as you caught glimpses of bright red hair before he turned the tall corners of the castle. You finally caught up to him, pressed against a wall as he caught his breath. He brought a finger to his lips as you approached him, and then you started getting nervous again. Fred peeked his head around the corner, and with a bit of fear you stood by his side.
Thatâs when you became able to hear the small murmur of voices conversing nearby, even if you couldnât understand what they were saying. You tried to take a look too, but sensing that you might get caught, Fred placed his arm in front of you. He stood away from the corner, bringing you close to him and towards the edge of the corner so you could look without being seen, his head poking above yours with ease. When you got a clear view, all you saw was Aliciaâs heels hitting the ground again, her lips parting from Oliverâs. The sight made you take a step back, your back hitting Fredâs chest and making him backtrack as well. Fredâs hands held onto your shoulders and dragged you a few steps back as he rested against the wall. A few seconds later Alicia ran down the hall and past you, a big smile on her face and unaware of your presence. Oliver would pass a bit later, seemingly unfazed and missing both of you on his way back as well.
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NOTE - Tired from the lack of works that meet my far too high expectations and needs, I've decided to write this piece. I do not know whether I'll continue it or not. Just needed something to create and not consume. I'm not a writer, but I aspire to be one, one day.
T/W - Theodore Nott x Slytherin!OC (Athea Vale), possible friends to lovers, angst(?), Theodore's POV (written in 3rd person), Draco, Blaise, Mattheo mentioned, Theodore's late mother mentioned, Half-Italian!Theodore Nott, Theodore's father mentioned, hints of jealousy, itriedtoputsomeouncesofmeaningandhints, Mattheo's love for The Smiths
WORD COUNT - 1.7K
The moment when Theodore realised he was starting to lose memories of his mother was when he caught himself rereading one paragraph of Il Piacere for the third time and still feeling conflicted about his interpretation. He caught himself reaching for Italian vocabulary to understand the meaning of a certain phrase. But there was a time when he knew the language all too well. A frown settles on his features, his unruly hair only adding to his irritation as he reads it one more time, growing even more annoyed than he already was.
A thud echoes through the room as he snaps the book shut and drops it onto his bed. Silence follows, making it clear that his roommates are either not back yet or have already fallen asleep. One thing he knows for sure is that Riddle is not back from his usual wanderings through the castle.
With half an hour until curfew, he pushes himself off the bed, pulls on his zip-up hoodie, and leaves the room, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. If he didnât, Blaise and Draco would most definitely complain later about the brightness disturbing their sleep. Itâs one of the few things they both have in common â being quite picky about certain things. They call it boundaries, but Mattheo couldnât care less. âBoundaries, my ass,â he once said. âWe share one room. You should grow up.â
The cold air of the Slytherin common room hits his uncovered skin immediately as he makes his way down the stairs toward the exit. His eyes briefly skim over the students scattered across the couches and carpets around the fireplace, not finding the face he is looking for. Letting out an internal sigh, he heads up the spiral staircase toward the main entrance.
All the way to the Room of Requirement, his lungs itch for nicotine and his hand for a cigarette, cursing himself for accepting a bet that forces him to stop smoking until winter break. But the mere thought of having to face the punishment makes him forget his craving for that small stick he smokes. He would rather take the Cruciatus Curse than go out and embarrass himself in front of the whole school.
âI know you think itâs normal for almost everyone at school to know what underwear you wear, but I have different views on that matter,â he told Mattheo, shaking his head. âYouâre welcome to do it yourself,â he adds with a small smile, before quickly following up with, âDonât.â
Mattheo lets out a dramatic sigh.
The door appears even before Theodore rounds the corner, and he slips inside after briefly glancing left and right to make sure no one is watching. Surprisingly, he has been caught by Mrs. Norris far too many times for his liking. Naturally, he has grown his own kind of hatred toward the red-eyed cat.
Inside, he is immediately met by two familiar figures standing in the middle of the room, wands drawn and stances sharp. Opposite Mattheo â who looks far too happy for a man mid-duel stands Athea. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds before shifting to Pansy, who is watching over her friends while lying on the couch.
The duelists seem too distracted by their fight to notice Theodore, but Pansy does, nodding for him to sit down. He spots a book sprawled open beside her and the rather distressed look on his friendâs face, choosing to help her out before she ends up burning the parchment.
âI donât understand why I would need a Laughing Potion when I can just watch Draco picking a fight with Potter,â she says to Theo, who has just sat down, placing a book on his lap and briefly glancing up to check on the duelists. âEssence of Insanity can be found in my motherâs daily supplements. I donât even need to learn how to brew it,â she adds, mostly just to vent about her mother, who seems to be getting on Parkinsonâs nerves far too often lately.
âWhen are these two planning on finishing their little fight?â he asks, nodding toward his out-of-breath friends before dipping his quill into the ink.
âHopefully soon, because I need to finish writing this and get my beauty sleepââ
Her reply is cut off by Theodore, whose usually unreadable face now clearly shows confusion. âYouâve got a new quill?â he suddenly asks.
âYeah, why?â She looks at him, not quite understanding what the problem is. Yes, she bought a new quill, because, being the materialist she is, she âjust had to get the one with the purple-coloured fwooper featherâ. And having a few galleons left in her pocket at the end of the Hogsmeade trip didnât exactly help (or rather, helped) her case.
Theodore sighs, a short-lived wave of disappointment passing through him, before saying, âI charmed the old one to copy from my papers.â
A sudden crashing sound draws both of their attention to the duelists: Mattheo is sprawled on the floor near the wall, while his opponent rushes toward him, her face scrunched in apology. She immediately drops to her knees to inspect whatever damage she might have caused, while he sits up, massaging his back and groaning.
âIt worked,â he murmurs through the pain, flashing her his signature smile (a bit irritating and endearing).
âWhat worked?â Pansy asks before Athea can, glancing down at her friend to make sure heâs generally okay.
Atheaâs expression doesnât soften as she continues checking his limbs, clearly worried. âMerlin, thereâs definitely something wrong with you. Why are you still smiling, idiot?â
âYou answered it yourself,â Theodore says as he steps in to help his friend up. âIdiot.â
That earns an eye roll from Riddle, who stretches his back to ease the pain. âYou were so pissed off it had to come out somehow. I helped you release the tension by baiting you into using your magic properly,â Mattheo announces proudly. He receives a smack on the shoulder from Athea, who now looks annoyed all over again.
âI wasnât pissed off,â she snaps, brows drawing together. âJust tiredâdoesnât matter. I could have seriously hurt you, idiot.â Her voice pitches higher, frustration clear. âYouâre okay, right?â
âHeâs fine,â Theodore cuts in before Mattheo can answer. âRight?â
He looks at Mattheo, who nods, who nods, but not before throwing him a suspicious look.
Of course, it isnât enough for Athea to stop worrying. The entire walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, she keeps asking if heâs really okay and insists sheâll buy him something in Hogsmeade on their next trip. Naturally, Mattheo doesnât turn down the offer of a treat.
Theodore isnât sure who heâs more irritated with â Pansy, for throwing away her perfectly functional quill; Mattheo, for dragging him out of his warm bed thirty minutes before curfew just so they wouldnât get caught again; or Athea, who is far too worried about Mattheo for his liking. Heâs perfectly fine, isnât he? Why is she acting like a bloody Hufflepuff, fussing over a grown boy?
Heâs also annoyed with himself (though he doesnât fully admit it), knowing heâs overthinking everything and that Athea is simply being the good friend she is â showing care and concern, something he knows he struggles to express.
Maybe heâs just tired and needs sleep. The first week of school must have taken its toll, especially after spending two months doing absolutely nothing stimulating for his brain: attending his fatherâs work duties, rarely meeting up with Blaise and Draco, and listening to the Muggle music Mattheo sent him.
Appreciate the music I send you, because the boys are probably one step away from telling the warden I went crazy for befriending an owl. Send my best regards to your father and write me back.
Mattheo Riddle(do you think I should change my surname?)
Theodore pulled a tape player from his trunk after making sure the wards were intact, a sign that his father was still not back. It was Mattheoâs gift for his seventeenth birthday. After discovering that Theodore read Muggle literature, Mattheo had been determined to make his friend fall in love with Muggle music.
It was, of course, dangerous â even deadly, if his father ever caught him consuming anything related to Muggles. But Theodore was careful with timings and charms, making it fairly easy to indulge his new fascination.
Sliding the tape in, he pressed âplay,â letting the tunes fill the expanse of his comically large bedroom. He could swear the air itself felt warmer, easier to breathe, as the music curled into every corner. Theo closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the castle: the Slytherin common room, sprawled on the couch opposite the fireplace, listening to whatever gossip the girls had brought today. He pictured Mattheo sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a simple pen tucked behind his ear, quill in hand, hovering over empty parchment, deep in thought. Draco was attempting to squeeze into Pansyâs seat, Blaise standing and ready to leave â he had enough noise at home with all his sisters. Warmth bloomed in Theoâs chest as he imagined Athea laughing at something only she could say, and a small smile tugged at his lips. For exactly four minutes and five seconds, the feeling of dread vanished, leaving all future worries behind.
And if a double-decker bus crashes into us
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us
To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine
Of course, a little later, when his father returned from whatever business occupied his days, the tape player would be tucked far down in the trunk, and Theodore would feel frustration, embarrassment, even, for allowing himself to relax. It was not something he should feel or was entitled to experience, not while aware of the ever-present danger, not while still living with the man who had stripped every trace of happiness from their house, starting with his mother.
L'ansia in lui era verace e l'amore per quella donna era in lui rinato veracemente; ma la espressione verbale e plastica de' sentimenti in lui era sempre cosĂŹ artificiosa, cosĂŹ lontana dalla semplicitĂ e dalla sinceritĂ , che egli ricorreva per abitudine alla preparazione anche ne' piĂč gravi commovimenti dell'animo.
His anxiety was genuine, and his love for that woman had truly been reborn within him, but the verbal and physical expression of his feelings was always so artificial, so far removed from simplicity and sincerity, that he habitually resorted to preparation even in the most serious emotional moments.
â Il Piacere by Gabriele D'Annunzio, 1889.Â
By the way, he was rereading this part, in case you didn't get why I attached a random text. Found this piece quite beautiful, maybe I'll read it even.
Excited for you to read it! Now that Iâm rereading this after a few days, I see some gaps and things that donât make sense to me. Lesson learned, chapters need to sit out some time in the draftsđ
hi!!!! Iâm sorry that this is a little late but I wanted to take the time to write out as meaningful of a response as that reply you left on my stuck with u fic. That was probably literally the sweets most touching comment Iâve ever gotten on my fics đđđ I know literally everyone says this but the biggest gift a writer can get is someone appreciating their work and it was so unbelievably kind of you to leave that comment đđ at least in my experience writing anywhere (be it ao3/tumblr) can very quickly turn into a numbers game of which fic can get the highest number of notes etc but its comments like yours that remind me why im even writing in the first place, for the FUN of it before anything else! So once again thank you so SO much for that reply ilsymmmm bestie mwah đ«¶đ«¶đ„čđđđđđ
I was a writer once when I was 14(?), so I kind of know how important it is to let the writer know how much their work mattersđđ»â€ïž
i need a fic of theo nott with A LOT of angst, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers jealousy sad lot of fighting miscommunication but they're so in love it just HURTS. happy ending tho
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