Untitled

"I'll think on it after we finish the job." As you roll your eyes, Nightwing stands beside you, pulling open the crate. He whistles as you shine a flashlight on the cargo. "So, it was a cover up."

The boxes that littered the space had been destroyed. "Figured. There weren't nearly enough guards here." You bring your hand to your comms, "Oracle, it's a fake."

"Sending the boys after the other cargo. Good work."

"Alright, clean-up is on you." You turn away and throw a wave over your shoulder.

"What!? Why-"

"Finish it and consider yourself forgiven."

Once you got home, you had a few hours to spare before you had to head to work. As you run a hot shower, you grab your briefcase and empty it out on desk. You organize your papers and put them back in the case to look back at in the lab. Once you've showered, you use the rest of the time to get some sleep in before you're back up and working.

The elevator dings as you step into your department's floor and you're greeted again by none other than Dick Grayson. The task force's golden boy.

"Well isn't it my favorite detective!" And you can feel yourself shrink immediately. Dick makes his way over to you. It's 6AM, you cannot find the words to speak to him. Not because he's insufferable, no no, it's actually the complete opposite.

"Officer Grayson." You turn to him with a tense smile as he gets closer. You grip your briefcase tighter because your palms are now already sweating.

His smile is radiant. So is his skin that's so clear it puts your skincare routine to shame. You would call yourself a cheerful person but when it's compared to Dick? You're as gloomy as the Gotham sky.

It's not your fault though. His laugh manages to cut your breath short every time. His presence alone is so intoxicating you doubt you can even process what he's saying.

"I heard some new evidence came in on that case you're working on."

How is he so cheerful this early in the morning?

"I left it in your lab, also left a letter given to you from one of our night-time vigilantes." That snaps your focus back into place.

"A letter?" Had Nightwing made a stop last night after you left? "From who?"

"Nightwing. Know why?" He tilts his head to the side and all you can see is the way his hair falls with the movement. It shines like silk and all you can think of is raking your fingers through it- "You okay?"

"Hm?" You blink up at him absentmindedly, "Uh- right- Yeah. I think I have a vague idea." You fidget with your briefcase before holding it up in front of your chest. "I'll.. I'll get right on it."

He looks down at the case and nods with another one of those annoying blinding smiles, "I'll leave you to it then." You nod back, tense. You hated how he had to awkwardly walk back to his desk as you slowly make your way into your lab.

As you step inside, you let out a huff, "That was so awkward, oh my god." You grip your briefcase tighter and throw it onto your desk. You spot the letter on your desk and snatch it impatiently. With a sigh you rip it open and read over the paper.

Remembered you were working on this case when I ran into you a while back, here's something I found interesting ;p , no need to thank me.

-NW xoxo

You roll your eyes and sigh. "No need to thank me, xoxo- Like I wasn't doing half the work." You grumble to yourself and make your way to the folder placed beside it containing a ziplock bag and a report from one of the officers.

Hours pass by and once your lunch break starts, you're making your way to the lounge where you spot Dick pouring himself a coffee. He looks up and shoots you a smile.

"You look beat." He smiles and you feel yourself tense once his attention lands on you.

"ha ha, yeah long night.." Laughing timidly, you open the fridge to grab your meal.

"Coffee?" He offers and you nearly bang your head against the fridge door. You turn to him and nod a little too quick. Get yourself together!

As he pours you a cup, you find yourself a spot to sit on the couch and open up your snack.

"How's the case coming along?" Dick passes the coffee to you and your heart nearly skips a beat when your hands make the slightest bit of contact.

"There's progress." You manage to say as you place the cup down and avert your gaze. You know if you look into his eyes, you won't be able to hold up this conversation.

"I'm guessing Nightwing was a huge help?"

"Pshh, him? I'll give him a lollipop for his efforts next time." You're glad he's bringing up a topic your familiar with or you fear you would've been stumbling over your words.

Dick raises a brow, "Not a fan I'm guessing?"

Is he a fan? There's no way you just blew it right now.

"Wha- Nightwing? No!- I mean like- yeah. No. I'm a huge fan!"

HIs eyebrows raise as he takes another sip. You definitely ruined it. Fix it!

"I know him actually!" Not like that.

"You do?" Shock written over his features. You tense when your eyes lock with his. Something so familiar and safe within his gaze.

"Yeah, we- you know- He saved me once while I was following a lead." You look away immediately. You feel like a fraud. Yeah, you've met him, but you don't know him like that. Well.. not as the you right now.

"He was also following the same lead... which is also the case I'm working on." Your hands are occupying themselves with the coffee cup as your eyes dart between your snack and coffee.

"Is that why he left a note?" Dick asked. You nod.

"Must be cool to have a vigilante as a partner." He laughs and you try to force one out in attempt to not seem awkward but it comes out strained.

"I wouldn't say that.. just a great help." Cause that sucker should've gave you some credit. You had to save both their asses cause he couldn't tell between his left and right.

"Don't underestimate yourself. I'm sure he thinks you're a great partner! He's providing you with evidence. He seems eager to help." Okay, he definitely was a Nightwing fan.

"Of course! I'll- I'll definitely thank him next time." You say it like it's obvious. "I thank his partner a lot more though. She's always quick to help me whenever." Throwing in some praise wouldn't hurt.

"You worked with her before!?" His genuine shock and curiosity caught you off guard. "You must be collecting these vigilantes like Pokémon cards if she also decides to work with you."

"What do you mean?"

"She's a tough one. She barely works with the GCPD. I admire her work." He says as he stares off into the distance. Me? I work fine with the GCPD. Was me giving them those reports not enou- wait.

"Y-ou what?"

He blinks and turns his focus back to you. You look up at him and he's smiling again.

"I admire her work. Not many do, but I can tell she's just as amazing as, if not more than, Nightwing."

Your lips part in shock. Hearing that from him, you could barely figure out how to process that before you feel a striking hot sensation over your legs. You flinch before realizing you dropped your coffee all over your trousers.

It might as well kill you with it.

Dick curses under his breath and runs to grab you napkins. He passes you some as he wipes the remaining liquid off the floor.

"Sorry! Sorry... I can't believe I dropped that." The embarrassment is eating you alive and Dick can't help but laugh.

"It's fine, it happens. You okay?"

You sigh in defeat and nod.

That night on patrol, you couldn't wait to go home and sink into your sheets.

"Done for the night, bubblegum?"

Nicknames were never ending with Nightwing; Bubblegum, Sweets, Sweetheart, hon, the list goes on. You eventually accepted it and moved on.

"We agreed that one was a no." You groan as you watch the streets below you. You've been patrolling for a few hours now. Sooner or later, you're going to wrap it up and go home. But of course, company awaits you.

"Something about it suits you. Sugary, bubbly, and so sticky I can't get rid of you." He takes a seat beside you and you roll your eyes.

"That would be you, Wing." You tease.

Even though you and him have never revealed your identities, you've built a bond that seems to be unshakable. Sure, you guys had your moments, but you two honestly couldn't think of working with anybody else. That meant that even though you were in somewhat of a shitty mood, he still managed to lift it.

"If you want to reverse the roles, I have no complaints." He raises his arms in defense and you sigh. "Who burst your bubble, sweets?" He bumps his shoulder into yours, gaining your attention.

"Just a long day."

"How long are we talking?"

"Long enough."

With that you lay your head on his shoulder. This is how you usually finish up your patrols. A sign that you two were about to close in for the night.

"I handed over some evidence from the truck last night to GCPD. Their head detective is working on it, so I thought it would be some help." He mentions and you hum in response.

"As long as you're aren't feeding them everything we know, I don't really care."

"That's a relief. I thought you'd give me the Robin treatment." He chuckled.

"That was entirely different! I know Robin was just starting the whole gig but no one told him that we don't tell the GCPD everything!?" You shouted in defense.

"He said he saw you do it!"

"I did it once! And I spoke to Gordon! Not some random cop!"

Nightwing's shoulders shake as he laughs, and you lift yourself off of them, trying to push down the smile creeping onto your face.

"Batman gave him a long talk after that one. Trust me."

"He's lucky I didn't."

"You had a sword fight-"

"He pulled it out first, Wing! And you know that!" You exaggerated.

"He was 11!"

"And trying to kill me!"

Nightwing throws his head back, laughing so hard all his pearly whites flash in your face. You glare at him and let out a laugh disguised as a scoff.

Moments like these with him were comforting. You felt like yourself when you were in this suit, fighting crime, and with him. You don't think anyone has managed to get this close to you. But that's the thing about him. He's a dickhead sometimes for sure, but you're always reminded why he's your best friend. You wondered in times like these, who was under the mask. Would it be some normal guy working a 9-5 on weekdays? A celebrity? Or worse, some weirdo-

Nightwing calls out to you, and you realize you've been staring. "What's on your mind? You seem distracted."

"Some... guy." You mention as you turn to look back at the street below.

"Woah-ho-ho! Who's the lucky fella?" You cringe at that.

You glance at him and decide if you should tell him or not. He's your best friend, after all. He'd probably think Dick was a great guy. Maybe even help you figure out how to talk to him. But you couldn't risk revealing anything with it came to your civilian lives.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Boy Wonder." You tease with a smirk.

"I'm calling it a night. Call me if you need me before I get home." You grab your grappling hook and hop off the building.

As you swing away, thinking it was a just another normal night. You failed to notice the face of your partner after your remark.

Nightwing watched as you disappeared off into the night. Conflicted.

Nightwing has always held you dear to him. More than a friend. Ever since the first patrol you had together, you've been his first and last thought every day. I mean, could you blame him? Look at you.

From the moment you introduced yourself to him, he was awestruck. He could've sworn careless whisper was playing in the distance. He thinks he also stuttered. Not like he remembers what he said, he was too distracted. That's also how he ended up with a bruise to his side after. You scolded him for being so careless. But he knew he was hooked.

What was he supposed to do with that information now? There was a guy. A guy! If he didn't know any better, he'd think you're fucking with him. But the way you looked at him when he had asked. That longing stare.

He couldn't help but think, was it him?

As your finish up some paperwork, you hear a knock on your door. "Come in!"

It's Dick. Again. What is up with this Peter luck your having?

"Officer Grayson, what brings you here?" You get up from your seat as he once again, grins and holds up a folder. You maneuver your way around your desk, meeting him halfway.

"New evidence. This time, it was Red Robin." He hands you the folder and you take it cautiously. "That's the 3rd vigilante this week. You're gonna have me wondering if you're one of them."

Well, shit.

"As if. I need my 8 hours." You try to play it off. Terribly. Normally, you're great at that. But clearly not in front of him. You open the file and smile to yourself. "Gotta love that kid."

Dick peeks over and asks, "What is it?"

You look up and realize he's much closer now. Frozen in place, he glances up at you and your lungs nearly collapse on you.

Nothing could've prepared you for this. His eyes.

Such a piercing baby blue that replicates the rare clear skies Gotham prays for. They shine with confidence, determination, and something deeper, you wish you could figure out.

Does he know how much his presence suffocates you? How his character is so overwhelmingly admirable you can't help but feel smaller next to how bright he shines?

"J-just.. a case." You show him the paper and he looks down at it like he wasn't inches away from your face a moment ago.

"That's quite the report."

Trying to regain your composure, you nod. Making your way back to behind your desk.

"Red Robin is quite the detective. I did him a few favors. He does me some." Trying to make yourself look busy, you start digging through your papers.

"It seems like you have a way with everyone, detective." He smirks and you don't give yourself the opportunity to glance at him.

"I would hope so, officer." Still digging through piles of paper.

Dick notices the way you avoid his gaze. He's always hated that.

You've always been uncomfortable around him. He can't help but feel like he's the reason why. Everyone has met the fun, witty, and outgoing side of you besides him. You were always tense, quiet, and distant when he tried to talk to you.

He's tried jokes, small talk, even small favors and every time you came in contact with each other, it was like you couldn't wait for him to leave. He's realizing maybe it was no use.

"I'll leave these here then.." He places the files down on the desk and you nod in acknowledgement. Taking that as his sign to leave; Dick walks himself out.

Once the door closes, you finally look up before you fall against your chair, slapping your hands over your face from the mere thought of how that interaction just went. Before the humiliation can eat you alive, the door opens again. You straighten in your seat in a hurry only to spot your friend at the door. Barbara.

"Was Dick just in your office?"

"Yeah, you saw?" Groaning as you slump back into your chair.

"No, you just look like you ruined your life and want the floor to swallow you whole."

"Just about right."

Patrol tonight was quick and easy. Basic robberies, thugs, the whole gig. Once you've done a few laps, you decide to call it a night before spotting NIghtwing on a nearby roof. Without a second thought you make your way over to him.

"Done for the night, bubblegum?" You mock as he turns to you with a shit-eating grin.

"You gonna chew me out if I am?" He says with his hands placed on his hips.

"Depends. You got anything useful?" You nod your head towards him as you look him over with a squint.

"Depends, you got time for one more stop?"

Your face scrunches up in confusion. "Is it a follow up on the toxin?"

"No, but follow me." With that he reaches out for your hand, you take it without a second thought before he pulls you in, throws you two down the building before aiming his grappling hook towards another one.

"It's best if you close your eyes!" He adds, sparking curiosity.

"Don't drop me, bridie!" You laugh as you shut your eyes and let him drag you wherever.

Once you two land, you want to peak but his hands immediately go to shut your eyes.

"Impatient as ever." With his remark, you scoff.

"I'm not going to peak!" You exclaim as he holds one hand over your eyes and does something in the other. He scoffs like that's the dumbest thing he's heard.

"yeah, and I'm not head over heels for you."

Then, a pause. You can feel tension start to rise and quickly, so you exhale dramatically and place your hands over his palm. "I'll keep them closed, Wing." Though, he doesn't let go. His palm remains there. Another pause.. "I won't look till you tell me to."

You stand there quietly as he finishes up, god knows what, and you hear him take a deep breath. "Open 'em." You barely miss it. So, you open your eyes slowly.

"Oh wow." Your lips part in awe.

There, on the rooftop, sits two pillows on the floor. The most adorable setup of snacks, a pair of controllers, and a picnic blanket. The area is dimly lit by the rooftop's yellow lighting, creating a warm atmosphere even in the cold ambience of Gotham.

"Wing, I don't know what girl you're trying to impress, but, trust me," You turn to him, smiling at the thought of his efforts. "You've got this in the bag."

And once he makes eye contact, you're smile almost faltered.

He scratches the back of his neck and rolls his head to the side. "Impessed is one thing."

Then, when he looks back at you, you fail to hold your grin.

"Do you like it?" He asks and you look back at the set up.

He didn't get the wrong idea last night, right? No. There was no way. You're overthinking this. This is just a sweet gesture. Nothing more.

"Yeah! It's amazing!" You quickly reply. Turning back to him with a small, close lipped smile. "What's it for?"

You didn't want to ask. Not really. You actually wanted to just play along and hope your intuition was wrong for once.

But, it never was. "You?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you.."

"Me?" You pointed at yourself.

"Yes.. you. Your record player break or something?" He attempts a laugh, but you're looking back and forth between him and the setup.

"What for?" You ask. You're trying hard not to sound off. It's not what you think it is. There's no way.

Nightwing just stares. His answer is written all over his face.

Okay, you really wish you weren't too comfortable with him to let your face fall like that. It would've saved you the guilt of watching him realize you knew what he was insisting. And you were rejecting it.

The wind blew by, carrying the last bit of hope left.

"Nightwing-"

"Damn, you're never gonna let me live this down now." He laughs as he rolls his head against his shoulder. "I called it, but I blame Oracle for the push." He pointed before making his way over to the setup.

You stand there blankly. Confused, you follow him. "Wing, listen to me, I'm sorry-"

"What for?" He turns, a smirk plastered on his lips. You can tell he's hurt. Shit..

"Wing, I feel bad. I didn't mean to lead you on." And he nearly cringes at that.

"That." He points, "is my issue. Not yours. You didn't do anything wrong, swee-.. don't blame yourself." And your heart nearly shatters at the way he cut himself off from that nickname.

"Do you wanna talk? You know this doesn't bother me like that. I just.. there's already someone I like.." Nightwing may have thought you didn't notice it, but you did. The way his body tensed. Even in the slightest of movements.

"I would be lying if I didn't tell you. That's the last thing I want. You're important to me. I'd never want to lose you to anything. You're my best friend, Wing." He smiles at that and for a second. You feel like it's going to be alright. This wasn't as bad as you thought.

He then goes to grab one of the snacks from the pile, specifically your favorite. He takes a step towards you. Then another. And another. Till he's face to face and he's pressing the snack into your hands.

"This is enough. Our friendship is everything to me. I wouldn't trade it for the world."

And in that moment, you saw someone else.

This wasn't your partner. It was a man who was devoted to keeping what he held dear close to him. One who longs for an inevitable future he can't help but reach for.

And you were the setting it in stone.

"Wing-"

"Good night. I'll see you tomorrow!" With that, he's running past you, off into invasive fog that took over the streets.

With no idea where to start, you turn around and make your way back home.

"Barbara, I told you-"

"She literally is head over heels for you! I'm telling you! I can't take any more hours of flirting over the comms, only for you to tell me she doesn't like you!" Barbara shouts over the phone. Dick groans into his pillow dramatically.

"I ruined everything."

"No, you didn't."

"Barbara."

"You didn't! I promise."

"I'm going to sleep."

"Trust me on t-" he hangs up before she finishes.

That went horribly. Not only did he leave you there stranded. He completely cut you off and made the situation so much more awkward than it needed to be.

He can't believe he let Barbara convince him into doing that. He should've just asked you out normally instead of throwing that in your face. And then you tried to apologize. Of course you did.

He checks the time and shoves his head into the pillow once he realizes he needs to get some sleep.

He's never gonna come back from this.

"Barbara. Where is this coming from-"

"Girl, you have to ask him. Today is the day, I can feel it!" Barbara sits across your desk. Exaggerating over why you should ask out Officer Grayson today.

"Barb. I love you. Like a lot. You're one of the very few I trust. But I am not doing that."

"Doing what?" Yeah. Might as well add a radioactive spider at this point.

"Just your luck!" Barbara turns to Dick is waking through the open door with a boxes in his hands. He walks over and places them on your desk.

He's wearing a baby blue button-up today instead of his usual uniform. Sleeves rolled up. He has sneakers on. Which has you confused; why was his outfit so uncoordinated? You wonder why, but before you can think about it, they both are staring at you. Realizing you blanked out and missed out on what was said.

"Sorry, did you say something?" You ask.

"I was just telling Officer Grayson how you wanted to ask him something!" Barbara beamed.

This little minx. You're glaring at her, already planning to lock the brakes on those wheels.

Dick looks back at you, waiting for a reply, and you can only dig your eyes into the back of Barbara's head as she leaves.

Dick looks down at the papers on your desk and you follow his line of sight.

"These are still the same ones from last week. Nothing new." You wave them off as he nods. He's unusually quiet. You finally take in the way he's put together. Well.. not really. His hair is a slight mess. No color coordination in his outfit what so ever. and.. was that a stain on his button up? Why wasn't he in uniform today?

"You alright?" You ask before thinking.

Dick looks up at you and sighs. He knows he looks like shit, mostly because he feels like it. Though it's the first time you've genuinely asked him something. "Rough night, but I'll be okay."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." You sort of try to look away but end up asking another question. "What's that?" Implying the boxes he had just brought in.

"Chief told me to bring these up and have you look through them. No idea what they are. I'm off the field today, so he's keeping me busy."

"He wants me to look through all of these?" You exaggerated before pulling the box over to your side, mumbling under your breath. "That guy seriously likes to throw things at me because I won't get an assistant."

That perked his interest. "Why not?"

That gets your attention again. You seem to get sidetracked easily. "Oh- um. I just work alone.. It's annoying having someone try to push their rules onto you." You shrug as you pull the stacks of files from the box.

"You don't work well with partners?" He asks. And you wonder if he meant something with that question. But, you only shake you head. "I work fine with other people. It just depends on who." Like Nightwing. You frown slightly at that.

"Mind if i help?" Your head perks up. You weren't expecting him to offer.

"You- You don't have to!"

"No, I want to. Like I said, I'm off the field today. I have nothing better to do." He pulls the chair towards him and takes a seat. "You just give me a job and I'll do it."

And with that, you and him work in tandem for the next 3 hours. It was unexpected but Dick worked well with you. He understood his assignments, didn't ask too many questions, and managed to have some conversations that didn't end with you embarrassing yourself. Well.. yet.

"That's the last of them." You place the papers back into the boxes and turn to Dick.

He was pleasantly surprised how much he enjoyed that. He felt like he actually got a glimpse of the real you today. And you work great together. He couldn't help but wonder why you always avoided him.

"Thanks for the help. I appreciate it."

He nods. "Glad to help." And when he hopes to maintain eye contact for longer than 5 seconds, you're already turning away again. And he can't help but feel like all the process he made with you had went to waste.

"I'll take these back to the office.. Need anything else before i head out?" You turn to him with a smile and shaking your head.

"No, all good." And back behind your desk you go. He deflates at that. He was hoping you'd be more comfortable around him after today. But he guesses his luck was shitty this week.

He doesn't wait any longer and makes his way to the door before you call his name.

"How does coffee together sound? After work?"

He had patrol and no idea if his partner would show up.

Cause why would she? After the shit he pulled last night? He's starting to remember why he was so beat today.

"Dick?" You call again and he snaps out of it quick, quickly replying.

"Yeah, uh- No, sorry. Thanks though." He gives a quick smile before leaving the room. He's a bit annoyed with himself now, because he managed to ruin two friendships in under 24 hours. He would love to go for coffee, but he'd rather not go in a bad mood. He'll reschedule. Today just wasn't his day.

And now neither was it for you. As you watch the door shut behind him, you stand there dumbfound.

He just flat out rejected you. Without even a second thought. You can't help but feel yourself shrink after. You really thought you did well today. You were able to carry out multiple conversations with him. Even maintain eye contact for like 4 whole seconds!

This shouldn't bother you that much. You weren't even close. But still, you slump against your chair and stare off into the void hoping you could rid the feeling of dread that built up with every passing second.

That night, you started patrol early and ended early. Why? Because like it or not, you were avoiding Nightwing. It wasn't because you were too afraid to face him, more because you didn't have the energy to. That whole rejection ruined your night.

So, as you stand at your balcony, staring off into the streets of the city that reflected your mood tonight, you hold a cup of tea in your hands. One thing about Gotham was that there was always going to be a slight breeze in the air, a faint scent of rain, and a drafty fog that carried only in the darkest of nights. Was it a good idea to go out onto your balcony this late? No, and you would advise any person to avoid doing so.

But you're a vigilante. So, you give yourself a pass.

But, not everyone knows that.

"I wouldn't recommend sitting out here in the open this late, miss."

Only one person could sneak up on you like that. And it was Nightwing.

Slightly flinching, you turn to him and place your cup on the tiny coffee table. "And I wouldn't try to balance myself on a slippery railing in the dark."

"I'm a vigilante. I get a pass." He places his hands on his hips, all cocky.

"I'm a citizen who pays rent. I get to use this balcony however and whenever I want." You mimic his gesture and he raises a brow at you.

"Aren't you a little sass ball today? You're usually a little more professional when we meet." You drop your arms after that and sigh.

Even though you weren't in your suit, you needed your best friend right now. And it was much easier talking like this to him than worrying about how awkward things can get.

With all your frustration that piled up since this afternoon, you groan, "It was a total disaster!"

Nightwing looks around in confusion. "What exactl-"

"I was doing great! We laughed for hours! I didn't stutter or shy away the whole time we worked!" Nightwing watched as you threw your arms around with every sentence. He stood there in silence, not knowing how he got wrapped up in hearing your outrage, but he was intrigued. He's never seen this side of you. Was it because you weren't around him anymore?

"Then he just walked out and rejected me like it was noth..ing.." Your words died down as your heart sank. This was how he was probably feeling right now. And here you are complaining to him about another guy.

"Sorry. Ignore me." You put your hand up. He doesn't ignore you.

"Rejected you? Now, what idiot decided to ruin his chances at paradise?" He attempted to lighten the mood, now sitting on the railing as you pick up your cup of tea. You were used to his flirts. Well. vigilante you was.

You didn't have it in you to argue over his flirts. You knew it was his nature at this point. "Some guy at work." You rest your elbows against the railing beside him, and he stares at you, urging you to go on.

"He's an officer. The one you gave the letter to."

"Officer Grayson?" He spits out almost shocked and you nod in embarrassment. Your head drops and you rest the cup against your forehead.

"I've liked him for so long. And believe it or not, I'm the most awkward person when it comes to him." Nightwing doesn't reply, so you continue. "I actually mustered up the courage to ask him out today, and he completely shut me down without a second thought!"

Nightwing blanks for a moment. You were asking him out!?

"No he didn- he probably didn't mean it like that!"

"He immediately told me no and walked out the room. I think he meant it like that, Nightwing." You tilt your head to the side, squinting at him.

"I doubt it. He told me he thought you were cool!"

"Cool is fine! He doesn't like me like that though!"

"You don't know that!" He argues.

"You do?" And that shuts him up quick. No, he didn't like you like that. But he didn't like knowing you thought he was rejecting you. Even if he was being a bit of a dickhead this afternoon.

"Sorry. You're right. But I think you should just talk to him about it." You pull the cup away from your forehead and take a sip.

"If it helps, I also got rejected too." He chuckles as you nearly choke on your tea.

"R-Really?"

"Yeah.. I kind of threw it in her face, though. It was a lot less casual than just a basic hangout. I guess I overwhelmed her. But I got the wrong idea and she had to reject me on the spot." He covers his face with a hand before dragging it down. "I was hoping to talk to her, but I guess she needs to clear her head."

"I think we all do at this point." You sigh before taking another sip. "Not much you can do in Gotham to get a clear head around here." Nightwing hums in agreement.

You both sit in a comfortable silence. A minute passes by and you take one last sip of your tea before exhaling.

"I guess I should head inside and try to fix my mood before it gets late."

"Yeah, I should too..." He agrees.

And as you make your way to get back inside, he says your name.

"Mhm?" Looking over your shoulder, he asks:

"You like video games?"

Part 2 Part 3 TAGLIST IS CLOSED!!

Taglist:

Everyone thought you two were dating.

Oliver Wood? Dating? Pft, oh please. That man had Quidditch on his mind 24/7. You laughed at the idea that Oliver Wood would ever date someone when there's Snitches, Bludgers and Quaffles flying around in his mind.

You and Oliver had been friends for as long as you could remember. You met him on the train, lugging around his bag full of Quidditch equipment which should have been left in one of the compartments in the train, but he clung onto it as if he'd die if he let go.

He didn't have anywhere to sit so you kindly offered him a seat there in your cart. He sat down and spent the whole ride yapping about Quidditch strategies, Quidditch tactics and more and more Quidditch related topics.

You were annoyed at first, but after a while you were intrigued by this boy. You came from a family of Quidditch maniacs too, so for you this was a daily occurrence.

You both talked and laughed the whole train ride, even traveling to the castle together.

6 years later, you two were still glued to the hip.

And ofcourse with 6 years of your close bond you'd think that everyone would probably just say that "Oh Oliver and You? You guys are the sweetest friends I've ever seen!". But noooo, it was: "Oh Oliver and You? You guys are the cutest couple I've ever seen!" or "There goes the Quidditch Couple".

When you and Oliver found out on 3rd year that people thought that of you two, you both were weirded out. Like, can't you guys be opposite genders and be friends? You both just rolled your eyes whenever you heard a couple comment, but you stopped that reaction when you reached the 4th year.

By that time you've realized that what you felt for Oliver that was once friendly banter turned into butterflies that go haywire in your stomach.

You always felt goosebumps when he slung his shoulder around you. When he called your name it made your heart flutter. When he would come to you to hang out after a Quidditch practice you find yourself fixing yourself up just for a walk by the Black Lake.

But most of all, you find yourself entranced by the way he talks. That Scottish accent always gets your heart tied to knots. It doesn't matter what topic you guys talk about, as long as he runs that mouth of his you feel like as if you're the only two people in the world.

You never want him to stop. Quidditch tactics? Yap away. Ranting about Marcus Flint? Honey you're all ears. Just little babbles? You're sat down.

"Am I blabbering too much?" he'd ask

You'd nod with a smile "You are, but keep talking. I like it when you run your mouth."

He would come to you and talk strategies on how to beat Flint's the Slytherin team's ass. Safe to say you were his personal Quidditch strategist. You pointed out the flaws in his strategies and help him come up with better ones. You were even invited to their team tent before the game and give them some moral support and pep talk or, as Fred and George would say: your "Motivational Support for Wood".

You were really close with the team, and you had a feeling that they were already catching up on what you felt with Oliver. Angelina knew, you told her personally. Katie and Alicia had their guesses. Harry hardly cared but you were sure he was suspicious. And as for Fred and George they were constantly a pain in your arse as they would shove you two together and call you "Mum" and "Dad".

Both you and Oliver would just scold them (and Oliver would make them stay late for practice) but it would be a lie if you said that you didn't like it.

You know that you shouldn't feel that way. Like come on, who seriously falls inlove with an accent? You were also pretty sure that he would never feel the same way... Until this week.

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You had just finished Potions class and stood up from your seat to stretch. Snape had gone on and on and practically tackled atleast 3 lessons at once.

You picked up your notes and put them in your pack. Oliver had not come to class today because of a Quidditch match tomorrow. The Gryffindor team had an excuse letter from McGonnagal herself (though you were pretty sure Oliver begged her to make one). Now you had made notes for Oliver to copy on once he was done.

You muttered a little goodbye to Snape for respect as he just ignored you and walked away.

"What an arse.." you muttered as you exited the class and went straight for the Great Hall. Your stomach was growling worse than a dragon.

Passing through the doors you went straight for the Gryffindor table where you spotted Lee Jordan already wolfing down a plate of eggs.

"Did you miss breakfast earlier?" you asked as you sat down across from him.

He grinned and nodded at you as a greeting and swallowed his food. "Nah."

"Then why does it look like you haven't eaten in days?"

"Jeez, can't a guy just enjoy a plate of eggs?" he rolled his eyes and smirked.

You shrugged "Just sayin." you said as you loaded your own plate with some roast beef.

"Where're the twins?" you asked as you stabbed your food with a fork.

Lee shrugged and filled his goblet with pumpkin juice "I dunno, still at practice I guess? They've been at practice since 2nd period. You should've seen Mr. Flitwick's face when Oliver came bursting in announcing that McGonnagal excused them for Quidditch practice" he laughed.

You let out a sigh and chuckled "I swear, Oliver is never giving his team a break. I can only imagine what those poor things are going through."

Lee snorted "Tell me about it."

"Oh you can never imagine." a voice grumbled from behind you.

You looked behind you to be face to face with an exhausted George Weasley.

"Oliver is a monster." Fred walked towards you before stopping beside George.

"Jeez, you guys look awful." Lee scrunched his nose.

"Shove off." Fred said before flipping him off.

George sat beside you and Fred sat beside him. Both of them tired, breathing ragged and hair looking like a rat's nest.

"Merlin, look at you both. Did Oliver even give you a break?" you asked as you poured them some pumpkin juice.

"You know damn well he didn't" George grumbled as he thankfully took the goblet from you and gulped in all in one go.

Fred dramatically put his arm on his face "Oh mother, our dear father made us practice non stop. Don't you feel bad for us? Could you please tell your Dear Sweet Oliver to atleast give us the afternoon to rest for the game tomorrow?" he said dramatically and pouted in your face.

George snorted into his goblet and Lee snickered.

You rolled your eyes and flicked some peas in his direction.

"Oh shut it, Weasley." you grumbled as you stabbed your roast beef again.

"Oh come on, we all know how much you love our Captain. You're always practically drooling while hearing his voice yap about Quidditch, tactics, blah blah." George nudged you playfully as you almost choked on your food.

"I most certainly do not." you snapped.

"Certainly, you do." Fred smirked.

"Not."

"Do to."

"Not."

"Do to."

"Not."

"Do to."

"NOT."

"DO T—"

"What in blazes are you two yammering about?" a heavy Scottish accent made you both fall into silence.

George bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. Lee just whistled as he stacked some muffins on top of each other.

Oliver slid to the seat next to you and poured himself some pumpkin juice. "You both sound like kids." he said.

You rolled your eyes "Tell that to Fred."

Fred batted his eyes "Oh I'm sorry, Mum and Dad. I'll be a good boy from now on."

"Shut up, Fred." you and Oliver both say in unison.

"Even speaking together! Couple goals!" Lee chortled as George banged on the table, laughing.

"Shut up, all of you." Oliver mumbled as he sighed heavily.

"Oh c'mon, Oliver. We all know how you love being teased with your little strategist." George wiggled his eyebrows.

"I will make you run laps around the pitch, Weasley. So help me." you growled.

George feigned in mock offense "Oh no! Mother is gonna make me run laps! Father, do something!"

Oliver snorted and scooped some corn to his plate "I'd let her."

The trio howled with laughter as you and Oliver just sat there.

"Anyways" Oliver said, turning to you and ignoring the three annoyances. "We need help strategizing for the game tomorrow."

"Mhm." you mumbled as you rested your chin on your palm and leaned on the table.

"Okay, so i was thinking..." Oliver went on and on talking about Quidditch strategies while you were transfixed by the way he was talking.

"—so do you mind?" Oliver finished talking.

You shook your head, jolting back to your senses. "Huh, what?"

Fred laughed and slapped his knee "Oh Godric, look at her face."

George howled with laughter "Were you even listening?"

You felt your ears heat up "S-sorry, zoned out. Potions class was a pain." you said as an excuse.

Lee rolled his eyes "Yeah right, you were just too focused on Oliver's voice to even focus on what he was saying."

"I was not!"

"You were." the trio said.

Oliver cleared his throat and the four of you looked at him.

"Do you three mind?" he said to Fred, George and Lee. "You're disturbing us. Go on before I really make you run laps around the pitch. Even you, Lee." he threatened.

The trio scrambled out of their chairs before Oliver could pelt them with a lunch roll, while laughing and hollering and calling out teases to you both.

Oliver bit down at his food as he turned to you again.

"So, I was saying. Do you mind if you meet us at the team tent later? After your last class?" he said in between bites. "I need— I mean, we, need you." he faltered as pink crept to his cheeks.

You blinked at his words "Oh, uh, sure."

Silence swept over the both of you and you felt this tension around the both of you that you've never felt before.

Oliver cleared his throat again and stood up to leave.

"Gotta go. Cya later." he said in a hurry and left.

...The fuck just happened?

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The day passed by like a blur. Next thing you know you're already walking towards the Quidditch pitch.

It was getting dark and you knew that you'd probably get past curfew, but lucky for you, your last class was Transfiguration and McGonaggal had pulled you aside and gave you an excuse letter. She seemed tired about it and it was probably because Wood told her he needed you. But being the loving professor she was, she went out of her way to do everything for your house. You thanked her and went on your way.

You stopped by the tent flap where you heard the team squabbling.

"No no! We can't do that!" you heard Oliver hiss angrily.

You could practically hear Fred's eye roll "Oh c'mon! It seems pretty rad to me!"

"You're risking Alicia and Angelina here." Katie pointed out.

"Not to mention it could take out me or you and leave Harry out in the open. You know that those Slytherins can tamper with the bludgers." George agreed.

You heard Harry groan in annoyance.

Fred scoffed "You guys just don't appreciate my master plans." he said, earning a scoff from the others.

Oliver sighed "Let's just wait for—"

"—Mum to get here?" Fred finished.

Silence.

The team bursted out in laughter as you peak through the crack of the flap. And the scene made your heart flutter.

The team surrounded Oliver as his cheeks burned red. You guessed they just finished practice, because everyone had changed out of their practice jerseys and was wearing some more comfortable clothing. But Oliver caught your eye, wearing a short sleeved Gryffindor shirt that flattered his features.

"He loves it when we tease him like that." George said while slapping Fred's arm playfully.

"Look how red he is!" Fred laughed.

"SHUT UP!" Oliver snapped, covering his face.

Angelina put her hand on Oliver's shoulder "Hey, stop it guys!" she yelled, then continued: "Dad can't take it when we tease him about Mum."

More laughter, even Harry was clutching his stomach.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you all?" Oliver mumbled.

Katie wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes "You guys are so adorable. Just get together already!"

You watched on, heart thumping and face heating up. You took a step back and—

CRUNCH

...Silence.

You cursed under your breath as you lifted your heel and found that you had stepped on a twig. A fucking twig.

"...Oh crud, do you think she's here?" you heard Harry mutter.

You saw George walking towards the flap to check, and before he could see and realize that you've been there the entire time, you burst in with that welcoming smile of yours.

"Good evening team, lovely night eh?"

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Everyone was silent when you walked in. But you acted as if you really had just gotten there instead of eavesdropping behind the flap.

You made your way beside Oliver and looked around the team, feigning confusion.

"Why are you all silent? You're acting weird." you pointed out.

Suddenly everyone had a fit of coughs and grunts, trying to let go of the awkward silence.

You glanced at Oliver who was trying his best not to meet your eyes. His cheeks were red and he was trying to gain his composure.

Finally, he cleared his throat and turned his attention to you. The team quieted down as you all waited for him to speak.

"Alright." he finally spoke, stuttering abit. "Let's talk strategy."

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The entire strategy meeting consisted of you and Oliver explaining the game plan to the team while Fred and George gave some of their... Helpful, suggestions (which neither you nor Oliver took into even the slightest of consideration. As their suggestions included bumping into the Slytherins to knock them off their broom. Oliver wanted to consider, but you declined.).

After what seemed like an hour, you looked around the group to see that they were hardly listening from exhaustion. Even Fred and George who were going to war with you about the plan had their eyes drooping. Harry was leaning against the table trying to fight his sleepiness, Katie and Angelica were already leaning against each other and Alicia was already resting her chin on her palm, snoozing off.

You looked at Oliver who was still focused on planning, but already had his eyes drooping. You yourself felt your head empty.

You turned to the team "Why don't you guys head back to your dorms and get a goodnight's rest? You've got a big game tomorrow." you smiled softly.

All of them gave out a sign of relief. Oliver was about to protest when you shot him a death glare.

"Ugh about time." George mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"You're a life saver." Alicia said yawning.

"Thanks, Mum." Fred said almost weeping with happiness as he rounded the table to hug you.

You patted him as you gasped for air "Yes yes, whatever, Fred. You're acting like a baby. Go now before I change my mind."

Fred let go and winked at you as he looked behind you and grinned. He hugged you again "Bye, Mum. Have fun strategizing with Dad."

"Shut up, Fred." You and Oliver said at the same time, making the others laugh.

"Don't get rowdy in here you two!" Angelina called out.

You felt you cheeks heat up "What in the blazes-"

"Byeee!!" Katie called out.

They all filed out of the tent, snickering and calling out teases until their voices faded out, leaving only you and Oliver alone.

You turned to face him, and your heart skipped a beat. He was already staring at you. Eyes tired but he had this soft smile on his face.

You blinked at him "What?"

He averted his eyes from you as he cleared his throat.

"Nothin'. Just amusing to see how you can handle them."

"You mean the team? Oh please they're just babies." you snorted.

Oliver chuckled "Yeah, they are."

He fidgeted with the parchment laid out on the table. You stared at him, how the lamplight shone on his face, how he looked so tired but still managed to keep a smile on his face. Not to mention—

"We should probably wrap this up, you look sleepy yourself." He said, accent thick and voice deep from tiredness.

You felt your stomach erupt with butterflies. This was one thing that made you go crazy whenever you and Oliver spent a tiring night together, talking. His voice tended to go deeper than it was, accent going thicker. It took all of your willpower to bit your lip there and then.

"Y-yeah. We should." you stuttered as you turned to the parchment.

You both went on to talk about strategy, Oliver the one talking more and you being the one to point out the flaws.

It went on and on until you were too tired to reply and Oliver just went on to recap the entire plan.

"I really don't get how you could let them just tease you with me like that."

You raised a brow "Like what?"

Oliver shrugged as he made air quotes "Mum and Dad?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the butterflies going feral in your stomach "I dunno, I just let it go. No point in scolding them, anyways. We did that long ago but they still won't stop."

"I don't know about you, but something tells me that you enjoy it."

You freeze and turn to look at him. He had this stupid smirk on his face as he sleepily leaned on his palm.

You scoffed and swatted his arm "I do not. It's weird."

"Really now?" he said, voice gruff. He leaned closer to you, ever so slightly, and your breath hitched as he stared into your eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that always made you feel at peace.

You just snapped out of it and scoffed again. You push his head away by placing a finger on is forehead.

"Are you done being weird so we can finish this?"

He laughed softly and gathered the parchment that was under your hands, finger brushing softly.

"I think that's enough for tonight, we've already got a plan anyways. Let's call it a night."

You nodded and helped him pack up some of the things in the tent.

"Shall we?" you asked as he nodded and grabbed his things.

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The walk towards the Gryffindor Castle was silent, which you both enjoyed. You heard birds and crickets chirping in the trees. You heard the rustle of bushes whenever squirrels ran about. You felt the woosh of air across your face, breathing in the night smell.

Oliver was walking beside you, staying at your pace. He was mumbling to himself, probably about the game tomorrow.

You nudged him "I think that's enough about Quidditch, eh?"

Oliver blinked out of his trance as he looked at you, now smiling awkwardly "Sorry, just want to enjoy the look of defeat on Flint's face when we finish him off tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes "Oh please, you and that obsession with Flint, if I didn't know better I'd say you're inlove with him." you teased.

Oliver groaned "Shut up."

"Oliver and Marcus sitting on a tree." you sang "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Oliver shoved you playfully as you squealed with delight.

"Shut up!" Oliver grumbled but laughed anyways.

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You and Oliver both arrived at the front of the Fat Lady's portrait who was not pleased to see the both of you out this late.

"You two again." she grumbled "Do you both realize how late it is? Where have you two been?"

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck "Well, we have a Quidditch match tomo—"

The Fat Lady groaned as she cut Oliver off.

"You and your Quidditch obsession." she turned to you "I have no idea how you're still with this boyfriend of yours."

Your ears turned red "He's not my—"

"Whatever." the Fat Lady said impatiently "I've got somewhere I need to be. Password?" she asked.

You muttered the password and the portrait swung open. Once you and Oliver were inside it swung shut with a heavy thud.

"Geez, looks like someone's on her period.." Oliver mumbled, earning a laugh from you.

"I mean, she is right. You and your Quidditch obsession." you said as you both walked to the couches, plopping down.

Oliver snorted "Atleast I'm not the one asking passwords when she knows damn well that I've been here for years."

"It's just necessary, Oliver."

"Yeah right."

Silence followed after that, as the both of you were already tired. You both just sat there, staring off into nothingness when Oliver cleared his throat. You looked at him.

"I really wonder that too sometimes." he said.

You raised a brow "Wonder what?"

He shrugged "How you're still my friend even though I'm obsessed with Quidditch. I'm surprised you haven't pelted me for going on and on about Quidditch. Or always cancelling our study plans for Quidditch. Or always having to ask you for notes because of Quidditch. I just realized that whenever I'm with you Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch is the only thing I talk about."

You laughed softly "I don't mind... I like it when you talk..." you say as you fidget with your shirt.

Oliver raised a brow, and in a thicker accent he said: "Really? When I talk? Why is it you like it when I talk?" he asked teasingly.

You gulped "Quidditch ofcourse. That's always what's coming out of that mouth of yours." you lied. "And you know me. My family's just like you. I wouldn't be surprised if one day they decided they wanted to put me up for adoption and have you instead."

Your whole family, also Quidditch maniacs, your brothers were all Quidditch stars. Your father was a retired player, your mother played as a Chaser when she went to Hogwarts. That left only you, you never found much love to play for it, only to watch and know about it.

Oliver laughed "Oh shut up. They definitely love you. You and your strategies." he rested his hair back on the couch "Y'know.. I'm glad I have ya." he said softly.

You looked at him and he continued "I never expected you to stay, but here you are."

You bit your lip and laughed "I'm surprised you even make time for me despite your schedule."

He shrugged "How couldn't I? You're practically one of the most important people in my life now. I can't loose you."

That caught you off guard as you felt your heart thump. He looked back at you with this smile on his face as he sat up straight and just stared at you.

The room was silent except for the crackle off fire...

...And until someone behind you cleared their throat.

You both jolted and whipped your heads behind you to see Percy Weasley standing in his night gown, hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

"It's late." he spat "Where have you two been?" before either of you could reply he just shook his head and pointed to the stairs. "Dorms, both of you."

You and Oliver rolled your eyes as you stood up.

"Geez Perce... It's our last year, cut us some slack." you mumble.

"No, I'm Head Boy." He says as if that explains everything.

"Ofcourse, Percy. We know. We've known for years." Oliver mumbled as you three headed for the stairs.

You were gonna climb the stairs towards the girls dorms when Oliver caught your wrist, making you flinch.

"See you after lunch tomorrow." he said.

"I'll be there 20 minutes before the game." you said.

Oliver smiled and behind him Percy cleared his throat. Oliver let go and followed Percy up the stairs to the boys dorms. You went on your way to your dorm.

You plopped on your bed and replayed the day in your head. A lot has happened, and it's got your mind swirling with thoughts. You turned in your bed, trying to sleep, so that you can already go on with tomorrow.

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It was almost time for the game.

You had rushed out of the Great Hall as fast as you can, wanting to get to the team tent before the game started.

Rushing towards the pitch, you saw students chattering and laughing as they were buzzing with excitement for the game. You could already hear bets being placed.

You weaved through the crowd until you were at the front of the tent. You barged in and was immediately greeted by the sight of the Gryffindor Quidditch team preparing. George was putting on his gloves while Fred made some batting motions in the corner. The girls were tying their hair while Harry was stretching and doing warm ups.

As for Oliver, he was pacing on the middle of the floor, muttering to himself.

You approached the team and gave them a warm smile. Oliver hasn't noticed you yet. You approached him and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from his pacing.

"Keep that up and you'll end up burning a hole through the floor." you teased.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. He smiled. You didn't anticipate what happened next.

He pulled you into a hug and your breath caught in your throat. After a few seconds he pulled away.

"About time." he mumbled.

You just blinked up at him as everyone stared at you both. George and Fred wolf-whistled.

"Public Display of Affection I see?" Fred taunted.

Oliver rolled his eyes "Can't a man hug his best friend for goodluck?"

Best Friend. That sent a pang through your chest.

You snapped out of it and turned to the team "Now's not the time for that." you grinned at them "Now's the time to kick Slytherin's ass."

Everyone erupted in cheers and you looked at Oliver who nodded and then turned to the team.

"Alright, lads. Let's talk strategy."

The next minutes you and Oliver explained the plan to the team and how to avoid the tampered Bludgers and how to confuse the opoosing team (with Fred and George making a Mum and Dad commentary ofcourse). You were gonna start giving them a motivational speech when you heard Lee's voice announce: "10 minutes till the match! Goodluck teams! Especially to Gryffindo— Alright! Sorry, Professor. Goodluck equally to both our teams!" he grumbled.

You sighed "Guess no speech this time guys." you chuckled.

George clapped you on the back "It's alright Mum, don't waste your breath on us." his eyes drifted to Oliver. "Why not give Dad a speech instead?" he grinned as the team erupted in laughter.

"We'll be out on the field now. Don't take too long!" Alicia said in a sing-song voice.

And before you could protest or even say anything, the team filed out of the tent. The twins gave Oliver a big thumbs up. Before leaving Fred yelled: "Maybe give him a kiss too while you're at it! For good luck!"

You felt your face burn as you watch them walk away, leaving you and Oliver alone. You turned to him and saw that he was already as red as a tomato.

He looked at you "Sorry about them.." he muttered.

You just laughed awkwardly as you took a step closer towards him and fixed his robes. "They've been doing this for years and you still say sorry?"

He didn't look at you when you were so close, he just looked away, averting his gaze. "Yeah, I know. Still sorry for it though."

You shoved him playfully and laugh "You better get going to your children, Wood."

He looked at you and smirked "You mean our children?" he said in a deep tone, accent thick as he turned his head to face you.

You blinked at his words and rolled your eyes "Oh shut up."

He leaned in close to you and your breath hitched. He was close enough to you, you felt his breath on your ear.

"But I thought you liked it when I talked?"

You froze entirely at his words. Your heart was thumping in chest, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He pulled away and looked you in the eyes, smirking.

"I'll see you later." he said as he grabbed his broom and left.

Once you were sure he was gone, you collapsed on the floor, hands on your face as you tried to process what happened.

Only problem was, you couldn't even process what happened.

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"5 minutes till game! The Gryffindor folk are looking lovely today! Look at Alicia she looks so— ouch! Ugh, fine fine, sorry Professor McGonnagal!"

You walked up to the stands and found the Gryffindor people all in one spot. Hermoine spotted you and waved, Ron beside her nodded to you as you greeted them hello.

"What'd I miss?" you asked.

"Nothing much yet." Seamus said from beside Ron. "But Madam Hooch is already repeating the rules to the players *cough* Flint *cough*"

You laughed and turned your attention to the players who were now mounted on their brooms. The pitch was dead silent, then Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

Cheers and hollers erupted from the entire pitch as the players soared through the air.

Your breath caught in your throat as Gryffindor took possession of the Quaffle. Then, the real game began.

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"Keeper Wood blocks Chaser Flint's shot! Suck it Slytherin! I mean— Better luck next time!"

You bit your finger as the game went on. Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied, both having 70 points. There was still no sign of the Snitch, but Harry and Draco were already swooping around finding it while taunting each other.

The girls were holding the Quaffle, passing it to each other where the Slytherins couldn't reach. They weaved around, confusing the opposing team. You let out a sigh of relief. Your plan was working.

But your relief didn't last long.

Your attention turned to the twins, who were laughing like maniacs as they hit the Bludgers. George was getting ready to take aim for one headed his way, when suddenly the Bludger changed course and charged to the left. Your eyes widened as it weaved around the girls but not actually targeting them. You gripped Hermoine's arm as she gripped yours too. You both figured it'd go straight to Harry.

Fred thought the same too and immediately went to Harry's side, ready for the Bludger to hit... But when it came near Harry it just zipped past him and straight to...

"OLIVER!" you screamed, as the Bludger hit him in his stomach and he let out a loud guttural yell. He tipped off his broom, which was still suspended in the air. Before he could fall completely his hand caught the broom's shaft.

"Ouch! Gryffindor's Captain got hit in the gut! Those Bludgers aren't showing any mercy!" yelled Lee.

You saw Marcus and the other Slytherins laughing as Oliver dangled from his broom. Another Bludger flew towards him but this time he managed to get on his broom and dodged it. George zipped towards Oliver and stood guard infront of him as Oliver gripped his stomach in pain.

"That's cheating!" you heard Ron yell.

"Look! Harry's found the Snitch!" Neville shouted as he pointed to the two Seekers who were both diving for the glint of gold.

You held your breath as you saw the Snitch dive down. Both Seekers dove to it, but Harry was quicker. He reached his hand out to take it. And then...

"HARRY POTTER'S GOT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR'S WON!" Lee yelled as Harry raised his hand triumphantly, the Snitch in his grasp.

Cheers erupted from the pitch as the Gryffindors ran down the stands and towards their players, who all flew down to meet with their housemates.

Everyone congratulated the players. But you ran straight to Oliver before anyone else. He was clutching his stomach and limping as he walked.

He grinned at you as he tackled you into a hug.

"Your plan worked!" he laughed triumphantly.

You pulled away and looked him over. Your eyes drifted to his stomach, which he was clutching hard.

"Your stomach— The Bludger—" you stuttered.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

He just laughed which suddenly turned to a cough. He leaned on you for support and you wrapped your arm around his waist.

"Told you." you muttered

He shrugged "My bad..."

The Gryffindor team rushed to you as they whooped and hollered.

"Slytherin just got their arses whooped!" Fred hollered as he and George took you and hoisted you up on their shoulders.

"Take that Slytherin! You don't have a better strategist than we do!"

You laughed softly "Alright alright that's enough! Put me down!"

When your feet were once again on the ground you turned to Oliver who was beaming at you.

"What?" you laughed as you walked to his side and helped support him walk.

"Nothin'. You're just cute when you laugh like that."

Cheers and teases erupted from the team.

"Get a room you two!" Katie yelled.

You scoffed "Shut up, all of you." You looked at Oliver "Now, let's get you to the Hospital Wing."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Madam Pomfrey wasn't surprised when she saw you and Oliver. She directed you both to the vacant bed and went straight to work on Oliver's stomach.

Once she was done she said he needed to stay in the Hospital wing for a week. The Bludger hit him harder than it had to, breaking a few ribs which needed bed rest for them to heal. Madam Pomfrey then went to go check on the other students and left you and Oliver alone.

"A week!" you exclaimed. "Oh I'll get those Slytherins! They tampered too much with the Bludger!"

Oliver shrugged as he put a hand on your arm "Hey. Calm down, the game is done. We've won and now we're on top for the House Cup." he smiled. "All thanks to you."

"Rubbish. Then it's all thanks to me that you're in for a week long bed rest?"

He shook his head "I don't blame you for that. It's not like you were the one who enchanted those Bludgers."

You didn't say anything after that, neither did Oliver.

Your skin tingled as his hand still rested on your arm. His thumb brushing your skin absentmindedly.

"What'd I do without you?" he suddenly spoke.

You looked up at him and he was looking at you with this soft expression on his face.

You felt your face heat up as you both stared into each other's eyes. His eyes flickered to your lips before looking back at your eyes. You moistened your lips without meaning to, then Oliver leaned closer.

Your eyes widened as he closed the gap between you, lips to lips.

He had kissed you.

You kissed back, melting into his touch. It felt surreal... It was everything you've ever wanted. You had been inlove with your best friend for years, and now.... Best friend?

Oliver jolted at the realization and pulled away.

You blinked at Oliver in confusion as he looked away from you.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

He gulped "You need to go."

You blinked at him in shock "What?"

"Go." Oliver urged, voice low. Accent thick as steel.

You stared at him dumbfounded. He was the one that kissed you and he was the one who wanted you to just leave?

"Oliver..." you started. But he wouldn't meet your eyes. You felt your heart swell with hurt as you abruptly stood up, chair scraping the floor.

"Fine." you spat as you turned and left him.

You bumped into Fred and George on your way out and they grinned at you.

"Hey Mum, how's Dad— Hey wait! Where're you going?" George yelled after you.

You didn't stop. You fast-walked towards Gryffindor tower and didn't stop when you finally reach the Fat Lady. You hurriedly yell the password and she opened the painting, stunned. Alicia and the girls were sitting on the couches.

"Hey! What happened? How's Oli—?" Katie yelled but you just went straight to your dorm.

You shut the door and collapsed. You felt tears prick the corner of your eyes.

You were so confused. Oliver has been acting strange lately. The weird flirting, the stares and now... he kissed you.

It wasn't a lie if you said that you've felt mixed signals from him from the start. Sometimes he's sweet and flirty with you, not the behavior a person would do to a best friend. But then sometimes he'd be all friendly and not romantic. Who wouldn't be torn?

You just yelled in confusion as you huffed. You were sick of this. You've always had the question in your head about you and Oliver, "What are we?" you'd ask yourself, not finding the answer everytime you tried.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Oliver ignored you for a week.

Which was total bull. Because you were pretty sure you were the one who was supposed to be ignoring him. After all, he was the one who kissed you and he had the audacity to ignore you?

You tried to visit him the day after the incident, but Madam Pomfrey stopped you and sadly said that Oliver didn't want to see you at the moment.

You looked for the team but their attitude towards you changed. You asked them on how Oliver was and they just blankly told you he was fine. But there was tension, a sad tension between them.

You pulled the twins aside and interrogated them. They looked uncomfortable but caved in.

"Oliver told us what happened." George said.

"He said it was a mistake." Fred added.

You felt your mouth run dry.

"But we told him not to think that it was. Because it's obvious you return the same feelings for him. He's just having a hard time wrestling it in his mind." George explained.

"You might have noticed that he can be flirty sometimes, yeah? And sometimes he can be kind of a snob. It's kind of our fault for that... We told him to shoot his shot already because it's clear that you like him. But Oliver is thicker than a tree trunk. He says that you're the one giving out mixed signals. And now that he's kissed you he's fully convinced that he's ruined your friendship." Fred said.

You blinked at them "I'm the one giving out mixed signals?"

"We know. It's stupid really. But honestly, you're the only girl Oliver's ever had eyes on. He's so awkward, it's killing us." George groaned.

Your heart raced faster in your chest at George's words.

Fred slapped George on the back of his head and he yelped.

"What the hell, Fred!"

"You wanker." Fred hissed. "You weren't supposed to say that."

"Oh come on! It's so painfully obvious! I'm getting sick of this!" he turned to you. "The only reason he lets us call you Mum and Dad is because he likes it. Even if he won't admit it, we already know that you both are sickeningly in love with each other! We've been trying to get you both together for years!"

You couldn't believe the shit that was coming out of George's mouth.

"So what now? Is he gonna ignore me forever?" you said in a small tone.

The twins looked at each other and sighed.

"Honestly?" George said sadly "That's what we think."

Fred thought for a moment.

"Unless..." Fred said with a smirk.

You and George raised a brow at him.

"We corner him and get him to talk."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Oliver had finally been released from the Hospital Wing.

You knew when you saw him enter the Great Hall for lunch. You locked eyes but he immediately looked away and went to sit with Percy Weasley.

"Get a load of this guy..." Fred mumbled as he stabbed his chicken tenders.

You just rolled your eyes and went back to eating your mushroom soup. But it was clear you were bothered, and George noticed.

"Hey, we'll help you talk to him. Don't worry." he said with a smile.

Fred laughed "Yeah, we really want our divorced parents back together." he batted his eyes lashes.

You laughed and slapped his arm softly, but you were still bothered "Thanks guys, I owe you."

Days passed by and Oliver still was on his snobbery plan.

He walked past you in corridors. Only greeted the twins and ignored you when you three were together. Everytime you both were in close proximity he'd bolt out of there right away.

You were getting restless... Fred and George had finally come up with a plan, but they said they needed more time for it to work. You on the other hand didn't have the patience anymore.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You walked towards the Quidditch pitch. It was a Wednesday, and you knew that Oliver practices on Wednesday afternoons.

You saw him fly down as he wiped his head. He turned and saw you walking towards him. His eyes widened and he turned away, walking towards the changing rooms.

"Oliver!" you called out as you raced after him.

He kept walking.

"Oliver Wood!"

Still walking.

You ran to catch up to him "Oliver Duncan fucking Wood!" you yelled so loud he flinched and stopped in his tracks.

You slowed down and stopped beside him.

"What'dya want?" he mumbled, looking away from you.

This time you didn't answer and just dragged him into the changing room and cornered him there.

"What the fuck, Oliver?" you hissed in his face, he didn't answer.

"You ignored me, for weeks. With no reason or explanation at all!"

"You even kissed me for Godric's sake! And you straight up ignored me?" you yelled as you shoved at his chest. "Be a man, Oliver! Spit it out! Tell me the fucking reason why you kissed me all of a sudden and resort to ignoring me! Tell me!" you kept going as you felt tears prick your eyes. "What? You can babble on about Quidditch but when it comes to a fucking explanation you bitch out?" you shook your head.

Oliver just pressed his back against the wall, biting his tongue and not looking at you.

"What happened to that babbling mouth of yours huh? Not so tough now? God you're such a coward! Spit it out—!"

"I'M INLOVE WITH YOU!" he snapped as your eyes widened, noticing the tears on the corner of his eyes. "I'VE BEEN INLOVE WITH YOU FOR YEARS! YOU! MY BEST FRIEND!" he yelled in a strangled voice.

Your words died down in your throat as you watched Oliver as he went on a full blown rage confessing everything to you.

"For Merlin's sake! I've been inlove with you ever since bloody 3rd year! You have no idea how much my heart aches for you! What I feel for you! You're the only girl that has made me feel this way! You have no idea what you do to me!"

"I feel like falling off my broom whenever you watch us practice. I feel like it's just the two of us on the world when you laugh. When you smile it makes my heart beat faster than the Snitch has ever flown. The way you talk makes me feel calm and at peace and there has never been a day that was bad whenever I'm with you! And when the team teases us, calling us Mum and Dad? It drives me crazy! Godric, I probably sound stupid yammering on about this—" he continued talking as he paced around the changing room.

You were too stunned to speak as you just watched him pour all of his feelings out infront of you. You couldn't help but smile and feel tears of joy pricking through your eyes. You put a hand on your mouth, suppressing a laugh as you watched Oliver go on. It made your heart go haywire just listening to his voice.

"—And then just after the game I had the sudden urge to kiss you right there and then in the middle of the pitch! Even when we were alone in the tent strategizing, the plan wasn't even going inside my head because all I wanted to do was kiss you! You and those lips of yours! You drive me mad! And now I was so stupid for kissing you and making you leave because I was scared that I misread everything and I thought that you actually liked me but some part of me said that maybe you didn't. So being the coward I was I pulled away and fucking asked you to leave. Like who does that?"

You bit your lip. He's really cute when he's all riled up like this. You thought to yourself.

He ran a hand through his short brown hair and continued without pausing "And then I ignore you because I was too scared to face you because of my goddamn stupidity. I wanted to approach you, I really did. But fuck I'm not smooth with the girls like Fred and George! Even though they helped me multiple times I just couldn't do what they wanted me to do because just looking at you makes my brain go haywire. Not only that—"

Oliver stopped when he looked at you. He furrow his eyebrows as you tried to stifle your laughter.

"What's funny?" he demanded, turning to you. "I pour my heart out to you and you're laughing there?" he groaned as he covered his face. "I'm so stupid."

You let out your laugh, but you weren't making fun of him. You were just overwhelmed with happiness because The Oliver Wood just confessed he felt the same way to you. Fucking finally.

You stepped towards him as you removed his hands from his face. He looked at you and his eyes widened when he saw your cheeks streaked with tears, but your mouth with a soft smile.

"Why'd you stop?" you laughed "I liked it when you ran that mouth of yours."

He just blinked at you and gulped. He reached for your face and wiped your tears away from your cheeks.

He looked you in the eyes with this soft expression.

"I like you." he said finally. His hands cupping your cheeks. "Merlin, I don't like you. I love you. So so much."

He rested his forehead on yours as you placed a hand on his shoulder, the other cupping the hand that was cupping your cheek.

You looked at him and smiled. "I love you too, Oliver Wood."

He let out a sigh of relief as he laughed softly and hugged you, tight. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and you slung your arms over his shoulders. You both stayed like that for a while, and you felt Oliver shiver. You burrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

Was he... crying?

"Oliver, are you... Crying?"

He sniffled and hugged you tighter "...No?"

You laughed softly and pulled away, his hands still rested on your waist. He had tears on his face and he looked like a baby. He was adorable.

You laugh softly and wiped his face "Godric, look at you. You're adorable."

"I'm just happy that I didn't make a fool out of myself and you actually like me too." he chuckled as his thumb traced circles on your hips.

"Why wouldn't I?" you said as your hand played with his hair. "You're... different from any guy I've ever met. You're passionate, loyal, you never take shit from anybody. And you and your Quidditch obsession? It's adorable and admirable."

You felt him squeeze your hips a little tighter.

He looked at you, gazing into your eyes before flicking his gaze to your lips. You took a deep breath as he leaned closer, noses touching. He paused, waiting for your consent, when you closed the gap and kissed him.

He melted into the kiss. Squeezing you tighter and pulling you closer to him. Your fingers intertwined in his hair as leaned your head back for a more comfortable position.

You felt his tongue swipe on your lower lip for access, and you obliged, opening your mouth so that your tongues fought for dominance.

He backed you up against the wall and his hands trailed over your body. One hand snaked down to squeeze at your ass, while the other snaked upward to cup your jaw. He breaks the kiss on your lips and went on to plant sloppy kisses on your jaw, down to your neck, and then to your collarbone. Your hands lay on his shoulder as you whimper at the feeling.

You feel him smirk against your skin as his hand explored under your shirt, grazing his rough hands on your soft skin.

He stopped for a moment and looked up at you, already breathless. "Are you okay with this?"

You nod desperately, wanting more. Oliver smiled and went back to placing kisses on your neck, which was sure to leave a mark.

You throw your head back, and luckily Oliver's free hand was there to hold it to keep you from hitting the wall. The hand under your shirt went ahead to cup at your breasts. You let out a deep sigh as you bit your lip, preventing any lewd sound from coming out of your mouth.

"Wanna hear ya'." you heard Oliver mutter as he now tugged your sleeve down to pepper your shoulder with kisses.

"W-what if someone passes by and hears?" you whine.

"No one comes here at this time."

"Oliver..."

He was panting already "Need you" he said in between breaths "So bad."

You were already breathless, and Oliver showed no signs of stopping. You felt his hand snake down to your thighs and was about to hike up your skirt, when suddenly—

"Oi! Oliver! You in here, mate?" you heard a voice from outside the changing room.

You squeaked in surprise as you shoved Oliver away from your wet neck. He looked at the door, surprised.

"Oliver!" yelled Fred from outside the changing room.

Oliver cursed under his breath "Shit, I didn't lock the door!"

You scrambled away from him as you hid behind the nearest curtain.

Oliver hastily tried to fix himself just before George and Fred Weasley burst through the door.

"There you are, why weren't you answering?" George asked.

Fred looked him up and down "And what... what happened to you? You look all sweaty and wet and breathless."

Oliver gulped as he tried to stand up straight. "Push ups."

George raised a brow "Push ups?"

Oliver nodded frantically.

"You're acting strange, mate." Fred snickered

"Am not" Oliver hissed

"Are too"

"Holy Merlin— Did— Did you make out with someone?" George asked, shocked.

Fred looked at Oliver again and his jaw dropped "No way, mate. His lip's are all swollen! And he's all red!"

Oliver's heart thumped in his chest. "What are you talking about you dickheads? Go away! I'm busy."

George and Fred raised a brow "Busy with someone."

"I'm not!"

Then suddenly, the color drained from Fred and George's faces.

"Oh bloody hell... You don't like... her, anymore?" Fred asked.

Georges expression shifted to disappointment "After years of everything you make out with some rando?"

Oliver scoffed "It's none of your business!"

"Oh it's definitely our business! Do you have any idea how devastated she was?" Fred yelled.

Oliver rolled his eyes, You've got the wrong idea. he thought to himself.

But Fred and George weren't gonna take shit.

"We're gonna find that girl."

Oliver's face went pale "Wait, what?"

The twins walked around the changing room. "Yohoo! Mystery lady! We know you're in here. We just wanna talk!"

You pressed your hands on your mouth. You've just been inside that curtain, listening and suppressing any noise you could make. You got to hand it to the twins. They were the best.

Fred and George looked everywhere as Oliver palmed his face. "Could you two just go?"

"No." the twins said in unison.

Then, George spotted your feet under the curtain. He looked at Fred who nodded.

"Alright fine." Fred said.

Oliver looked at them, dumbfounded. "Really?"

"Yeahhhh." George said.

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief.

"After we check behind that curtain!" George shouted as you stifled a yelp.

Fred lunged to the curtain and yanked it open.

"WAIT—!" Oliver yelled.

"AHA! Found you—!" Fred's words died in his throat as his widened eyes saw yours.

George's jaw dropped as Oliver wanted to die right there and then.

"...Hi?" you smiled.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Fred and George's brains weren't working when you and Oliver finally explained to them all that has happened.

They sat in silence for a while. Until Fred broke the silence and yelled: "THEY'RE BACK! MY PARENTS ARE BACK!"

He came up to you and Oliver, almost weeping, as he pulled you into a bone crushing hug.

You gasped for air as you frantically patted on Fred's back "Fred— Fred get off— Seriously, are you in 5th year or the 1st?"

Oliver tried to pry away "Weasley! You're re-breaking my ribs! Get— Off—!"

"Never." Fred smirked as he hugged tighter.

George laughed and joined the hug.

"Guys I swear to Merlin, get off!" Oliver grunted.

The twins pulled away.

"Wait till the others hear about this! They'll be thril—"

CRUNCH.

The four of you looked at the door and saw Harry and the girls peeking through. They hid again once you saw them.

"Harry why did you blow our cover?!" Katie hissed.

"Is it my fault that there's a twig there?!" Harry exclaimed.

Oliver groaned as you laughed.

"Get in here, all of you. No point in hiding." Oliver grumbled.

Soon the whole changing room was cramped with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who were all cheering as if they'd won the lottery.

"So great to have you both back." Harry said as he hugged you both. "It was so nerve wracking watching you both for weeks!"

Angelina popped up beside Harry and nudged him "You owe me 10 Galleons."

Harry muttered angrily under his breath as he dug through his pocket, but he had this stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Alright alright!" Oliver shouted as he put a hand around your waist. "Get back to the Common Room. We'll meet you guys there. If Filch or McGonnagal finds us all here in the men's changing room we're toast." he grumbled in annoyance.

George nudged him "You're just mad we cock-blocked you."

Oliver turned a deep shade of red "I am not!"

"Your face says otherwise" Fred observed.

You stifled a laugh.

"Alright guys let's go back." Angelina said as she ushered the others out. "Let's give Mum and Dad some private time."

The others laughed and teased and made smooching sounds as they left the room. Leaving you and Oliver.

Once they were gone Oliver turned to you again and kissed you.

You giggled and placed your hands on his chest.

"We should get going." you chided.

"10 minutes." he said hungrily as he snaked his hand up your skirt again "I wanna finish off where we started."

He was leaning in when you both heard noise outside the door.

"Ew!" You heard Alicia exclaim.

"Shut up you dolt!" You heard Angelina hiss.

Harry groaned "You're so noisy! They'll kill us!"

Oliver groaned as he buried his head in your shoulder. You laughed.

"I swear to Merlin, I'll make you all work your arses off here on the pitch for a whole day!" Oliver yelled and you heard them scurry away.

"Are we ever gonna be uninterrupted?" he groaned.

You ran your finger through his hair "Maybe, but not now. We should go back too."

He looked at you and smirked before kissing you and peppering kisses across your face. He paused and looked at you.

"I'm kissing you too much, aren't I?"

You laughed softly and placed a peck on his lips.

"You are, but don't stop. I love it."

"My dorm later?"

"To finish off where we started? Absolutely."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Taglist: @loserginger @hawk3yee @lovelyspeedygiver

@asoiafhogwartsnarniathemazerunner @chickensrule

@radiantdanvers @penguinmusic @cozycanons

@arpegiiz @luv-lucy @svr2003 @sodavrr @khumiko

@sat0-coffee

Harry Potter

tied down @hollowdeath

you and harry potter, the biggest flirt at hogwarts, have been secretly hooking up for weeks after playing hard to get. harry's been dragging his feet when it comes to making things official, so when his flirty tendencies get him in trouble, you decide to play him at his own game and win.

harry james potter x fem!reader

words : 3.3k

untitled @hollowdeath

you and harry have been working on a project involving amortentia, the most powerful love potion to exist, and when harry tests your device the night before it's due, he has some rather intense side effects.

harry james potter x fem!reader (18+)

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smut / mdni

hopeless , the both of them @lumosflairr

Hermione and Ron watch you and Harry in awe from a distance as you both share a moment in the snow.

words : 0.4k

personal fav !

she loves me @lovel4nita

A flower and a gentle breeze remind Harry that her heart is his.

words : 318

the eye of the snake @dearlizzies

Regulus died. Everyone knew it. Sirius had the same fate, but not without regretting before not having talked to his niece, you. Everyone knows who you are and the story that involves you, a pretty girl at Howgarts, but that was not what attracts the most attention—it’s the fact that you‘re dating the chosen one. Post-war/7th year.

harry potter x Regulus’Daughter!reader

dance pratice @junezsq

professor mcgonagall’s dance class suddenly gets interesting when you have to dance with your best friend turned crush

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he's like a poem i wish i wrote @fear-less

In which, harry finally confesses his feelings towards his closed off friend.

harry potter x f!reader

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almost was ours @nocturnao

She was Harry Potter’s constant—his secret keeper, his sanctuary, the girl who stitched him together when the war threatened to tear him apart. A quiet Ravenclaw who stood by him when no one else knew how, she never asked for anything… except maybe for him to see her. But as the world began to heal and the noise returned, Harry reached for the girl who burned bright in public—Ginny—and left behind the one who had carried him through the dark. Years later, when fate crosses their paths again, Harry is haunted by what he lost: the girl who loved him in silence, and who walked away with all the parts of him he never knew he gave. A story of almosts, aching regrets, and the kind of love that gets remembered in every timeline—but never chosen in the one that mattered.

harry james potter x ravenclaw fem reader

day one @darcellexxx

the Boy Who Lived and Draco Malfoy are known to hate each to the core, but what about another Malfoy loving Harry Potter with the same intensity? It’s good that Harry likes the colour red and that he’s a Gryffindor, because there’s no way that he would actually get out of the ‘Harry Potter Wears Lipsticks’ situation without a bit of his smugness. The second best thing is Draco’s expression, after he finds out his darling sister dates his nemesis…

Harry James Potter x Malfoy!fem!reader

words : 2.1k

only by name @slytherinsimp12

Y/N spent her entire life at beauxbatons. Her whole world turned upside down when her mother she never met escaped Azkaban, forcing her to transfer to Hogwarts in her 5th year for her safety. Harry knows he should stay away. She’s a Lestrange, the daughter of the woman who destroyed part of his world. But the more he sees of Y/N, the harder it becomes to believe that blood decides who we are.

Harry Potter x Lestrange!reader

we would have been timeless @fear-less

everyone at Hogwarts saw it coming when you and Harry started dating. To most, you were just another sweet couple. but to the professors, you were a reminder of two people they had lost. In your smiles, your arguments, and the way you looked at each other, they saw echoes of James and Lily. not a repeat of the past, but a new beginning filled with hope.

harry potter x f!reader

beneath the silence @elytriumm

harry has always been more than a best friend to you, but as of late, his coldness and distance have left you wondering if it’s you he’s pushing away. best friends to lovers.

words : 2.1k

green and gold @lumosflairr

when you, a sharp-witted Slytherin express interest in joining Dumbledores Army, you soon find yourself caught between not only house loyalty and what’s right - but an unexpected bond with Harry Potter.

harry potter x slytherin reader

personal fav !

so obvious @junezsq

hermione has always been smart, but you never would’ve thought she’d so quickly figure out who you have a crush on… or were you just being really obvious?

harry james potter x fem!reader

words : 1.2k

baby names @ravenclaws-stuff

with the due date rapidly approaching, you and Harry discuss baby names.

Harry Potter x Longbottom!Reader

cherry pink , cherry kiss ! @mokkiaun

harry loved his girlfriend, but a dream made him wonder if you’d taste better in sweet, red cherry lipgloss— and what happens when your lips appear redder and honeyed the very next day?

harry potter x fem! reader

____

Ron Weasley

steal my girl @yasministration

for some reason, every one in ron's family has been trying to steal his girl, so he has to fight for a moment of privacy with you

words : 0.9k

flustered feelings @angelphie

"ron weasley has been friends with you since you were both children, but he's developed feelings for you and he finally takes up the courage to tell you unexpectedly"

ron weasley x fem!reader

words : 1.3k

don't fall in love with my brothers , please @holysmokesblog

His only request: don't fall for his brothers. But love, sometimes, is the most disobedient of all.

words : 1.7k

i love you first @blondykebarbie

Ron is used to feeling second.

ron weasley x gn reader

words : 538

untitled @slvqtore

you, oblivious as ever, hadn’t caught on to ron’s not-so-subtle signals about his feelings for you.

ron weasley x fem!reader

words : 1.8k

sneaky visits ! @bvrnesher

spending christmas at the burrow and having to sneak around the creaky floors because Molly doesn't want you sleeping in the same room

ronald weasley ! fem. reader

a weasley gift @jijournal

Ron surprises you with something very special in the Weasley household.

blushing in the bookstore @rottenherbs

In a cozy Hogsmeade bookstore, Ron Weasley finds himself smitten with someone he’s never seen before ~ leading to shy glances, soft laughter, and the start of something sweet.

words : 758

not a game @luv4freddie

You were a well known flirt, the Slytherin maneater. But now you’ve set your sights on Ron Weasley, and he’s not sure what to believe.

ron weasley x slytherin fem reader

words: 1.5k

loving him was red @cipheress-to-k-pop

You'll be allowed to date Ron Weasley over Draco's dead body

words : 8.5k

____

Fred Weasley

the trick @ilovelygood

Y/n attends Hermione and Ron's wedding, but decides to bring her deck of cards to prove that, even though she is a Muggle, she can also do magic, catching the attention of a certain red-haired twin.

Fred Weasley x Muggle!fem!reader

little sister , my arse @cipheress-to-k-pop

You were “like a little sister to him”—or so Fred said. Please. Anyone with half a brain could see there was something way more between you two.

words : 8.9k

christmas at the burrow @alexadolly-8

your first christmas at the burrow being fred's gf

words : 669

4me 4me @biscuitz707

It’s Easter break and instead of being home, you’re stranded at Hogwarts prepping for N.E.W.T.s. Stuck studying inside the library, you surprisingly find yourself accompanied by Fred Weasley.

words : 1.2k

amortencia @binchidavinci

‘When you have to make Amortentia in Slughorn’s potions class, the last thing you expect to smell is Fred Weasley; Fred doesn’t expect to smell you, either.’

verituserum @maria021015

Fred, George, and Lee have been avoiding you all day and you’ve had enough. When you blackmail your way into the Gryffindor common room to confront them, you don’t expect Fred to start bombarding you with strange compliments. You definitely don’t expect what comes next.

lingering perfume @yasministration

harry has warned you that if you don't stop stealing his sweaters, he'll tell your parents about your boyfriend. but your parents are very much aware of your relationship, so harry goes one step further.

fred weasley x potter reader

words : +1k

never planned @lqveharrington

you and fred had been friends for so long that it never occurred to the both of you that everyone thought you were dating.

fred weasley x gryffindor!reader

pains and promises @marvelwitchergilmore

A rivalry that has been going on for four years suddenly begins to change when you help Fred's little sister.

Fred Weasley x slytherin!reader

wrong twin @yasministration

for a long, gruelling minute, angelina is under the impression that her best friend has a crush on her boyfriend. but no, that's the wrong twin.

words : +1.3k

"you really can't tell ?" @oc3anlvsu

Fred Weasley has a huge crush on his brother’s best friend, but she’s completely oblivious. Between teasing her about her handwriting, stealing her food, and randomly braiding her hair, Fred thinks he’s flirting — she just thinks he’s annoying

Fred Weasley x Ron’s best friend

____

george weasley

dazed and devoted @lumosflairr

George gets knocked out during Quidditch practice. When he wakes up, confused and concussed, he flirts with his girlfriend like he’s never met her before. And honestly? It’s kind of adorable.

words : 1.5k

cool about it @hunnyisland

When Fred notices you’ve taken a liking to his brother, he formulates a plan to wingman you.

george weasley x gryffindor reader

words : 6k

saint like @rottenherbs

Molly Weasley doesn’t hide her disapproval of you, being George’s girlfriend, it made things awkward every time you visit the Burrow. But when George loses his ear and you care for him with gentle dedication, Molly begins to see you in a new light—slowly warming up and starting to accept you as part of the family.

words : 2.2k

someday @ravenclaws-stuff

Five times George Weasley says he's going to marry you and One time he actually does.

George Weasley x Lovegood!reader

sticky situation @weezyweasleys-fg

A young rivalry blooms between you and the supposedly "quieter" twin of the Weasley family's sons. Despite the teeth-grating relationship you two had grown to have being quite new, things got heated up pretty quickly. Now stuck because of each other in detention with no real way out but getting through with it—burning down the classroom felt better than being stuck in a room with George Weasley.

reasonless hatred @yasministration

Severus snape's daughter causes him nothing but chaos, hatred where love should be in their relationship. but she is finally given a real reason to hate her father, and she decides to give him one to hate her too.

words : 2.6+

patience @kittyminion

george finds a way to entertain you, despite your introverted nature at a party

george weasley x introvert!f!reader

hands @lcvecials

in which george is just trying to have a conversation with you, and you can’t stop staring at his hands.

george weasley x gn reader

words : 0.6k

i won't say (i'm in love) @drowsyhope

You’ve been trying to convince yourself that you do not like George Weasley. sure, he has nice hair, a handsome smile, and those eyes? Yeah, you’re in love — but you won’t say it!

words : 3k

his little fox @rottenherbs

George has spotted a wild fox that has taken to his liking, little does he know it’s the girl he can’t keep his eyes off in the halls.

george weasley x animagus reader

words : 1.9k

____

Oliver Wood

captain's favorite @drowsyhope

being apart of the Gryffindor Quidditch was surely not for the weak because of the captain — Oliver Wood. so, when you came back for your 5th year, you strived to be the best! funny enough, the Prefects keep watch on you for some odd reason?

words : 3.6k

in the background @incantatem

you find yourself in detention with Oliver Wood, who seems to have gone the last seven years without noticing you, or so he thinks.

words : 9k

mobility exercises @yasministration

oliver wood doesn't expect to walk onto the quidditch pitch to find the slytherin team finishing up their post workout stretches. nor does he expect to be flirted with by their captain

words : 1.3k+

a bit suggestive

the chocolate frog conspiracy @toffeetonks

To the students at Hogwarts, Oliver Wood is Gryffindor’s beloved Quidditch captain. But to Y/N L/N, he’s the boy who keeps sliding her Chocolate Frogs during her study sessions... Like sugar can disguise the fact that he’s falling in love with her.

words : 2k

so possessive @lumosflairr

Oliver gets jealous when he see’s you and the twins messing around. More specifically, when they have their hands on you.

words : 0.9k

thicker than a broomstick @jijournal

Quidditch is brutal, but nothing compares to Oliver Wood’s hopeless attempts at flirting—too bad the only person who doesn’t realize he’s asking you to the Yule Ball is you.

words : 2.1k

an A minus @vaanny

remembering your parents’ promise of not letting you come back home for the holidays if you don’t meet their expectations, you find yourself considering an offer that is too good to refuse.

the party & the after party @spencersmopbucket

After three years of dating, you and Oliver come to the conclusion that you're better off without each other. A few months later, at the start of 7th year, you realize just how wrong you were. Oliver had always had a quick temper, but seeing you being flirted with at a post-victory party seemed to push it to new limits.

ye alright ? @nyxthedeity

Everyone's getting struggle in finding a date for the Yule Ball, but for Oliver? Oh, he already got his eyes on someone far longer than the Yule Ball. The only problem is how he's going to ask her out.

Oliver Wood x Ravenclaw!fem!reader

ring @soupandsimple

moments that Oliver’s wedding ring amplify the butterflies in your stomach

the hate game @heartthrobin

 the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

oliver wood x female!reader

words : 13.3k

____

Neville Longbottom

gamophobia @cipheress-to-k-pop

Gamophobia (noun) | /ˌɡæməˈfəʊbiə/ An extreme or irrational fear of long-term commitment or marriage, often resulting in avoidance of deep emotional intimacy despite genuine affection.

words : 11.7k

greenhouse blues @ssspark

Neville’s clumsy moment in the greenhouse before class surprisingly gives him a little bit of hope.

Neville Longbottom x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

words : 1.2k

obvious enough @yasministration

it seems that the only person in the entire castle who doesn't know about your feelings for neville is neville himself. your signals become increasingly more obvious, but even asking him out to hogsmeade doesn't seem to be obvious enough for him.

words : 1.9k

the alchemy @kyber-crystal

there’s a special sort of alchemy that’s involved in falling in love and finding the ‘one.’ luckily, you don’t need to try so hard—he’s already out there waiting.

words: 3k

my wish @ravenclaws-stuff

Neville makes one wish for his birthday.

palmistry @yasministration

when you begin learning advanced palm reading with professor trelawney, you don't only uncover new truths about you, but those around you — particularly one boy you have your eyes on.

words : 3.3k

yeah , I do @httpvomitello

One day, you looked at Neville Longbottom and saw something new. Something you had never noticed before—the way he had grown, the quiet strength in his eyes, the way his smile made your heart stutter.

neville longbottom x f!reader

between the pages @leturmindwonder

A study session in the library leads to some truths being revealed.

your voice is my favorite sound @yupthisisshe

Nevile begins rambling about plants and Neville apologizes for talking too much. Reader assures him that they do not mind at all.

Maybe I'll make you see through my words and my actions exactly just how much you mean to me. @drearydaffodils

You spend an afternoon in the presence of your lover, and have a sweet date <3

words : +800

____

Cedric Diggory

platitude @artyteah

there's nothing more used and reused than popular students falling for the one student that isn't interested in them. for cedric, it started with curiosity. for reader, it certainly is a bad joke where she is the punchline.

the alchemy @blossominmist

you were hogwarts’ golden couple — both quidditch captains, both prefects, both hopelessly in love. until your family forced you to break his heart. a year later, the feelings are still there, stronger than ever, but so are the rumours about cho chang. when cedric is chosen as hogwarts’ champion, you finally speak to him again. not to win him back… just to help him survive.

cedric diggory x fem!reader

words : 4.9k

personal fav !

where the snow remembers us @taycherouzz

Cedric and you end up in a chaotic snowball fight that accidentally exposes a photo he’s kept of you for years.

Cedric x fem!reader

rough day ? @mmeskywalker

CEDRIC DIGGORY has just gotten done with quidditch practice. a rough one at that. if the word rough even began to cut what that poor man experienced. he’s upset, he’s grouchy, yet he’s completely and utterly yours.

the golden labrador and pretty blues @mokkiaun

cedric diggory was the golden boy of hogwarts, his charming smile and soft gestures had every girl swooning. so what happens when mr perfect stumbles into a sweet and beautifully dazed beauxbaton girl?

cedric diggory x beauxbaton! fem! reader

your champion @rottenherbs

You’re Harry’s sister, close in age and fiercely protective of one another. At the Quidditch World Cup, you meet Cedric Diggory, and the connection between you is instant. Harry disapproves of the budding relationship, worried about Cedric’s intentions—but when the second task of the Triwizard Tournament puts you in danger, Cedric steps in to save you, proving just how much he cares.

cedric diggory x potter reader

words : 2.7k

a lover's ruse @mentally-in-northern-italy

Your agonizing courtship and Cedric’s need to spite his ex are both ailments that have a very simple cure: a fake relationship, obviously.

Cedric Diggory x fem!gryffindor!reader

words : 3.9k

a promise kept @jijournal

Before the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric makes you promise that, no matter what happens, you won’t cry over him. After his death, you struggle to keep that promise—until you find the letter he left behind.

words : 2.3k

only you , my girl @lumosflairr

While you and Cedric are in a happy relationship, some girls can’t comprehend the fact he’s taken and shamelessly flirt with him. While your aware he wouldn’t dare give them a second thought, it hurts a little. However, Cedric being the amazing boyfriends he is - comes up with an idea to cheer you up!

the extended potter family @luv4freddie

now that you and Cedric have gone official, it’s time to finally give your parents what they want. A holiday visit to the Potter home quickly becomes chaotic.

words : 1.1k

You snapped your bag shut, standing up from the desk and moving to walk around it–

“Seriously,” Oliver said, conveniently blocking the exit and stopping you in your tracks. 

“Oliver,” you began reprovingly, tone just shy of a snap, but he interrupted you again. 

“Just this once,” he said, eyes imploring and taking hold of your hand. “I mean it.”

You sighed, your resistance to Oliver beginning to waver despite your better judgement. The last thing you wanted was to pretend to be his fake girlfriend at a party, but at the same time…

“Fine,” you said after a moment, reluctantly. “Just this once.”

Oliver sighed in relief, releasing your hand and stepping back. 

“I knew you’d say yes,” he said confidently, grabbing up his bag too and following you out of the Charms classroom and into the corridor. 

“Oh, did you?” you said, raising your eyebrows as you walked down the long, spiraling staircase. “You didn’t seem too sure when you were practically begging me last night.”

“I was not begging,” Oliver began sharply, but you cut him off with a look. 

“You offered me ‘VIP seating for all future games’.” 

“So?”

“That doesn’t exist.”

Oliver shrugged, coming to a stop in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. “It could exist,” he pointed out. 

You waved your hand dismissively. “Hypotheticals. Now, what exactly will I be expected to do for this party?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Oliver hastened to assure you. “They’ll be food and drinks and potentially dancing, but–”

“You are not getting me to dance.”

He gave you an exasperated look. “I wasn’t going to try,” he said. “The main objective is for me to connect with as many team executives as possible. Scouts from the Wimbourne Wasps and the Tutshill Tornados have already reached out to me, but I’ve got my eye on Puddlemere United. So unless connecting with them involves dancing, you won’t be expected to do so. Besides, I don’t dance.”

“Glad to hear it,” you said wryly. “How exactly am I going to help, though?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oliver said, placing a hand on your upper arm and gently guiding you away from a group of Ravenclaws entering the classroom. “I won’t know anyone there. You’ll be my moral support, so to speak. And…”

“And?” you prompted him, raising an expectant eyebrow. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. 

“And I sometimes get… nervous.”

“Nervous,” you repeated. He gave you a reproachful look.

“Don’t make me say it again!” he said in a whisper-shout. “But I thought having you there would make me less–”

“Stressed. Anxious. Frazzled.”

“Stop saying synonyms,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. “I’m asking you a favour, and you’ve agreed. That should be the end of it.”

“You’re right, I’ll stop,” you conceded, putting your hands up in surrender. “And I’ll be ready for the party on Friday.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, giving you a grateful look. “We’ll leave just before dinner. Wear your best dress.”

“See you then,” you agreed, watching him hurry down the hall to class before he was late. 

Shaking your head, you drifted into your own class with a sigh and took your seat. You hadn’t wanted to accept Oliver’s request at first– why in the name of Merlin would you agree to be a fake date for your real crush?– but you really couldn’t refuse. Whether that was because you truly did just want to help him out, or because part of you wanted to know what it would feel like to walk into a party on Oliver’s arm, you weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither. 

Maybe you needed to stop thinking about this before you chickened out again. 

༺ ✧ ༻

Friday arrived, and all day, you could tell Oliver was half-expecting you to tell him you’d changed your mind. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you– or fortunately, you would soon find out– you’d made up your mind and there was no going back on it. 

As soon as your classes ended, you rushed back to your dorm to get ready. As he’d requested, you’d put on your best dress and cast a Glamour charm on so you didn’t have to worry about your lipgloss coming off or perfume fading. You looked nice, and hopefully Oliver would feel the same.

Fifteen minutes before you were supposed to leave, you met Oliver in the Gryffindor common room– or tried to. He was still getting ready, but the Weasley twins were loitering around to bother you. 

“Well, don’t you polish up nice!” George wolf-whistled, giving you a quick spin. You laughed, nearly thrown off-balance but catching yourself on Hermione’s shoulder at the last second. 

“Don’t make me dizzy,” you warned. “Or Oliver will make sure there’s hell to pay.”

George put his hands up and stepped back. “Alright, I’ll leave you be,” he shrugged. “Don’t want to make Wood angry, otherwise he’ll make me clean up the team’s tent after practice tomorrow.”

“And that might teach you a lesson,” Hermione interjected, giving you a warm smile. “You look lovely!”

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” you said gratefully, before your attention was captured by a sudden chorus of cheers and claps to your right.

At the top of the staircase to the boys dormitories stood Oliver, wearing a suit and tie and looking completely and utterly handsome. 

Your mouth went dry.

Damn it.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he called over the din, giving both Fred and George reproving looks. “Any more of that and you’ll be cleaning out the lockers after practice.”

“What did I tell you?” George muttered, elbowing you gently in the ribs. You barely even felt it, because Oliver’s gaze had turned to you and you felt like you could hardly breathe. 

His eyes roved down your figure, his face remaining mostly unreadable, but his jaw tightened as he saw the low-cut neckline and high slit traveling up the length of your leg. Of course, you could be imagining that. You probably were, actually. 

Self-consciously, you drew your arms together and gave him a nervous smile. 

“Does this dress work?” you asked, hoping your voice sounded steadier than it felt. “I wasn’t sure if the color was too–”

“It’s perfect,” Oliver interrupted immediately. “You’re perfect.”

Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance while Hermione and Ginny stifled a giggle. You resolutely ignored them.

“Thanks,” you said brightly instead, forcing any remaining nerves from your tone. “Shall we go?”

Oliver nodded. “I’ve got permission from McGonagall to use her fireplace for the Floo,” he explained, offering you his arm as you made your way towards the door. “I just hope we won’t get covered in too much soot.”

“Maybe bring a feather duster!” George shouted to your retreating figures. 

“Or a cond– ow! What was that for, Hermione?!” Fred exclaimed, and that was the last thing you heard before the Fat Lady’s portrait swung shut, leaving you and Oliver alone in silence. 

You made your way down the many flights of stairs leading to McGonagall’s office primarily without talking. Anything you could think to say would only be incessant chatter to fill the silence, and you had a feeling Oliver would not appreciate that. 

Before you arrived at the door to her office, though, you did decide to say something. 

“Are you ready?” you asked him, half-hoping he would tell you that he changed his mind and didn’t want to go to this party after all. Now that you were walking arm-in-arm, you weren’t sure if you would be able to withstand an entire night like this. 

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said bracingly, opening McGonagall’s office door and leading you over to the fireplace. “Are you?”

You smiled tightly. “Much the same,” you admitted. “You certainly look the part of the prospective Quidditch Keeper, though.”

Oliver only rolled his eyes. “That’s the idea,” he said, glancing over at you as he gathered a handful of Floo Powder. “But you look nice too.”

“You don’t have to say that–”

“I mean it,” he interrupted seriously. “You look nice.”

And before you could say anything else, he’d thrown the powder in the fireplace and stepped through the green flames. 

༺ ✧ ༻

The party was surprisingly quite enjoyable. 

You stuck near Oliver all night, eating the offered food and taking full advantage of the floating trays of firewhiskey and spiked butterbeer. You did steer clear of the dance floor, though, considering you were not very adept at dancing and Oliver was too preoccupied with talking to Puddlemere United’s team executive to do much else. 

Mainly, though, you held onto Oliver’s arm for support as he casually interviewed with nearly every team’s manager. Your head spun from the amount of people you’d been introduced to. 

Towards the end of the night, Oliver took a short break from seeking out the managers and lead you over to the snack table. He hurriedly ate a couple of treacle tarts, his eyes roving the room. 

“Who are you looking for?” you asked curiously, turning to look too. He quickly grabbed your shoulder, forcing your attention back to him. 

“Don’t look obvious,” he warned you, though he continued to look. “I want to talk to Philbert Deverill again.” 

“Again?!” you said, with mild alarm. “Oliver, that’ll be the third time you talked to him tonight. Puddlemere will think you’re desperate!”

“I’m not desperate!” he immediately protested, and you just gave him a long look. 

“Oh, please. You gushed on about knotgrass mead for five minutes because he mentioned he had just gotten another goblet of it. And you hate knotgrass mead!”

“It was not five minutes and I do not hate knotgrass mead. I just… highly dislike it.”

“You sound mental,” you sighed, shaking your head and taking a sip of your firewhsieky. “If you want to talk to him again, I won’t stop you, but you have to make it look natural, for Merlin’s sake. No one will want to recruit you if you’re chasing after them!”

“I suppose so,” he grumbled, finishing his treacle tart and reaching over to steal a sip of your drink. Exasperated, you let him, and then watched in confusion as he set the goblet down on a table and held out his hand.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, nodding towards the dance floor. 

You stared at his hand. “You can’t be serious,” you said with an uncomfortable laugh. “You told me you don’t dance.”

“Not often,” he agreed. “But I can sometimes. When I want to. With you.”

Your breath caught in your chest. Surely, he wasn’t saying what you thought he was…

The temptation to accept was too great to resist, so you gave him a half-smile and nodded. 

“Alright, why not,” you agreed, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. 

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he remarked archly. You opened your mouth to make a retort, but saw real humour in his eyes. 

Taking your place among the other dancing couples, Oliver splayed a warm hand across your lower back, spreading his fingers and pulling him into you so that your chest brushed against his. With his other hand, he held yours up and out in a classic waltz position. You’d danced like this with him before, but his hand had never been so low on your back, and your face had never been this close to his. 

You began the dance, trying your very best to keep your mind off of the fact you could feel his breath against your cheeks, and the pad of his thumb brushing against the skin of your palm. You forced yourself to intensely inspect a speck of dust on his shoulder instead of looking up into his eyes like you so desperately wanted to.

Merlin, the suit Oliver was wearing should be illegal. It was just tight enough that you could see the outline of his muscles, but too opaque to actually see them. Not that you were looking, of course, but it was hard for your eyes not to drift down to the white of his shirt when the dust you were supposedly inspecting did not actually exist. 

“What’s so interesting?”

Oliver’s voice startled you and you hurriedly looked up, aware you had just been caught staring at his chest for Merlin knows how long. 

“Oh, nothing,” you said with a nervous laugh. “Only that…” Your voice trailed off as you remembered just why you’d been so determined not to look up in the first place. 

His eyes were on yours, a gorgeous shade of russett brown that made you immediately lose your train of thought. You were so close to him that you could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes, and the light spattering of freckles across his pretty face. 

You were a lost cause. 

“Only that…?” Oliver prompted when you failed to say something, and it was then that your gaze was drawn to his lips. Which was an even bigger mistake than looking into his eyes, because now you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. In fact, it was taking every single ounce of self-restraint in your body not to lean forward and press your lips to his–

“Mr. Wood!” 

You wrenched your gaze away from Oliver’s lips and turned to see Philbert Deverill standing there, a kind smile on his face. Oliver immediately dropped your hand, halting your dance and following Mr. Deverill towards the edge of the dance floor. You scurried after him, taking a much-needed moment to compose yourself and press cooling hands to your flaming-hot cheeks. 

“Good evening, Mr. Deverill,” Oliver said, keeping his tone light. “It’s nice to speak with you again.”

“That it is! Now, I do apologise for interrupting your dance, but…”

You allowed your focus to drift away as Mr. Deverill started asking Oliver something about his approach regarding a Keeper’s tactics within the context of– well, you stopped listening and were instead angrily scolding yourself for forgetting to keep your mind off of how attractive you found Oliver. 

You’d liked him for so long that you knew continuing to harbour your silly little crush would only get you hurt in the end, but found it nearly impossible to stop. The only thing you could do was try to limit how long your thoughts– or eyes– lingered on him, and most importantly to not ever show him how you felt. He would’ve made a move, any move, long before now if he’d felt the same. 

Almost as if he’d sensed your newfound determination to keep your distance and was trying to test your resolve, Oliver’s hand found its way to your back and gently brushed down the length of your spine. You stiffened, holding your breath and resisting the urge to move or lean into him as his hand came down to rest at your waist. 

It was then you became aware of what he was saying. 

“...of course, my girlfriend and I are avid fans of Puddlemere United! We’ve been to more games than I can count.”

Your gaze snapped to his and the way he was easily laughing with Mr. Deverill, not even looking at you. But his hand remained on your waist.

Girlfriend. He had definitely called you his girlfriend. 

He wasn’t lying when he’d said you'd been to lots of Quidditch games. You had accompanied him to a number of them, but you were also not his girlfriend so you knew that was a complete lie. There was no reason to lie about that, unless–

Your heart sank. 

Unless he was somehow using it to gain approval from Mr. Deverill.

True, you had no idea how lying about that would even help him, but you also knew Oliver didn’t make a habit of lying for no reason. It was the only option that made sense, and unfortunately, something he would probably do if landed him a spot on Puddlemere’s team. Not that you would blame him for that, of course, but it did hurt that you had to be collateral damage, however unknowingly. 

You managed to keep yourself composed until Mr. Deverill drifted away with a hearty promise about seriously considering his application. Only then did you step out of Oliver’s reach and clear your throat, glancing around for the exit. 

“Are you ready to go?” you asked him, moving your gaze to your hands when you saw he was trying to catch your eye. They were shaking slightly as you adjusted the skirts of your dress. 

“Yeah, I suppose… are you alright?” Oliver asked with a frown. You smiled tightly, looking at a spot just past his shoulder. 

“Just tired,” you said off-handedly with a nod. “Now, do you know where the Floo is–”

“No, you’re definitely not alright,” he interrupted, catching your hand. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying and failing to pull away from his grasp. “But I would like to leave.”

“Sure,” Oliver said, tugging on your hand and leading you away from the main area of the party. “But not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He pulled you into a room just off of the main area and closed the door, releasing your hand and turning to face you expectantly. You crossed your arms. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you repeated. “So you locking me in here isn’t going to do anything.”

“That’s complete nonsense,” Oliver said immediately. “Something is clearly the matter and I suggest you tell me before we stay in here all night.”

He held your gaze challengingly, and you found yourself blurting out a question before you could stop.

“Why did you tell Mr. Deverill I was your girlfriend?”

Oliver looked momentarily taken-aback, but he recovered quickly. “I thought it would be easier than explaining,” he told you. “He assumed you were my girlfriend, so–”

“So you didn’t bother to correct him?”

Oliver paused. “Would you want me to?” he asked carefully. 

“Yeah, actually, I would,” you said, failing to keep the bitterness from your voice. “I’m not your girlfriend. There’s no reason to lie about it.”

“What, is being called my girlfriend an insult to you?” Oliver scoffed. “Would you have preferred I gave him the whole story about how you didn’t want to accompany me here as my date–”

“As your fake date,” you corrected him. “Fake. You made that very clear.”

“I never said anything about it being fake,” Oliver protested. “I simply said I needed a plus-one, and you were there, so–”

“Oh, so it’s only because I was available, then? Would you have taken Katie or Angelina if they were free?”

“Stop interrupting me,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. “And no, I wouldn’t have taken them. I wanted you with me, which is why I asked you–” 

“Presumably so you could lie and say I was your girlfriend.”

“You need to let that go. And stop cutting me off!”

“You know, Wood, if you wanted to call me your girlfriend, you could’ve just asked me to be your real one!” you snapped, finally losing your patience and moving to stomp past him towards the door. You’d take the Floo back to Hogwarts with or without him, at this point!

As what you said began to register with you and you felt your chest tighten with dread, Oliver quickly darted in front of you, stopping you from leaving. He’d heard you; of course he had.

“Let me go!” you snarled, reaching out your hand to push past him, but he halted you with his hands on your shoulders and eyes wide.

“What did you just say?” he asked hurriedly. “Did you just–”

“Did I just what?” you snapped, though the venom faded from your tone when you saw the way Oliver was looking at you. “Did I just… what?” you repeated, slightly nervously now.

He took a step forward until he was barely a breath away, his hands sliding from your shoulders down the length of your arms, catching your hands with his. Your breathing struggled to stay even, and every bone in your body was screaming at you to move back before either of you did something irrevocable. 

You didn’t move. 

Slowly, Oliver raised his hand and gently pressed it to the side of your face, his fingers brushing over your skin. Automatically, you leaned against it, your eyes fluttering shut and breathing hitching when he touched you like this. 

His thumb lowered and grazed over your bottom lip, encouraging you to open your eyes and look into his. He was leaning in, his gaze dropping to your mouth and other hand going to your waist. 

His lips brushed against yours tentatively at first, like he was expecting you to pull away, but you leaned into it, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. 

It was a gentle first kiss, everything you’d expected it to be. But when he pulled back, his eyes were hungry for more. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, Oliver dove back in, his mouth crashing against yours and hands cupping the side of your face. You stumbled, and he used this momentum to walk you backwards until your back came into contact with the wall. His tongue probed inquisitively, swiping across your lips until you opened your mouth and felt his tongue slide against yours. 

Your hands plunged into his hair as he pressed you to the wall, slanting your head so he could press the kiss deeper and keep you steady. You were dizzy with sensation, caught up in the feeling of his mouth on yours and hands gliding down your body. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled yourself up until you could feel the slight scratchiness of his suit’s fabric brushing against the skin of your chest. Sometime in the last couple of minutes, your strapless dress had inched its way down your body just enough that the top swells of your breasts were exposed to the air. 

Seeming to sense this, Oliver pulled back and groaned aloud at the sight of your heaving chest before him. He lowered his head, peppering kisses and little nips across your breasts and up your chest until all you could do was clutch at his hair and feel the ache between your legs beginning to build. 

When Oliver straightened back up to kiss you again, you felt something brush against your hip and nearly went weak-kneed at the sensation. 

“Oliver,” you gasped out against his mouth, unable to stop yourself from pushing against the hardness in his trousers. You could feel yourself dripping and wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were already soiled, before he’d even properly touched you! 

Clearly, though, he was about to remedy that, because he let out a muttered curse and swept his hand up to the swell of your chest, dipping his hand into the neckline of your dress and palming your breast. 

You swore, automatically going to wrap a leg around his waist to pull him against you, but a hand on your thigh stopped you.

“We can’t,” he muttered, one hand still on your breast while the other rubbed gently over your thigh through the fabric of your dress. “Not here.”

“But– but we can do other things,” you insisted, grabbing his wrist and guiding it down your leg until it reached the hem of your dress. “Please.” 

Oliver looked at you, warring between temptation and reason, but you chose to make the decision for him and pulled him back in for another kiss. You’d gotten this far and you were not about to walk out of here without coming from his touch at least once. 

His hand made its way up the inside of your thigh, sliding over your smooth skin before his fingers reached the edge of your panties. He toyed gently with the fabric, waiting until you couldn’t hold back your whimpers any longer. Only then did he dip a finger under, tugging the soaked fabric away from your cunt. 

One of his digits brushed lightly over your sensitive skin, purposefully teasing you until you were gasping out his name, barely resisting the urge to shove his fingers fully against you. Mercifully, you didn’t have to wait long, because he finally dipped a finger between your folds, probing lightly at your entrance before inching his way in. 

“God, Oliver,” you rasped, becoming dizzy as he circled you, delicately pumping them in and out as you leaked over his fingers. You could already feel a low rising beginning in your stomach, tugging at you and increasing tenfold when he began a steady rhythm, bringing you up until desire rushed through your veins and you could feel yourself being pulled closer towards your peak. 

“Come, my love,” he whispered against your throat, pressing his thumb to your clit and making tiny circles until you saw stars and cried out, your orgasm crashing over you. He worked you through it with his fingers, drawing it out until the last of your high faded away, and all you could do was slump forward onto him, panting. 

For a long few moments, the two of you stood there in silence. The salty tang of sweat hung in the air, and you could still feel Oliver’s hardened cock pressing against your side, but you were perfectly sated. 

“What about you?” you finally asked when you’d recovered, lifting your head blearily from his shoulder. Your heartbeat hadn’t completely slowed down and you could still feel a sheen of sweat coating your skin, but you were focused on him in front of you, and the gentle smile he gave you. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he assured you, slipping his hand from between your legs and surreptitiously wiping his fingers on the inside of his jacket. “We’ll have more than enough time back at the castle for that. And, to do more.”

“That better be a promise,” you told him, tugging up your dress so it covered your breasts. Oliver looked mildly disappointed at that but held out his hand, leading you towards where the fireplace was located in a room near the one you were in. 

“Of course it is,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. He looked up after a second, giving you a significant look. “I can’t leave my girlfriend waiting, after all.”

You were unable to stop the smile that spread across your face. “No,” you agreed, tucking yourself against his side. “No, you cannot.”

A/N: i don’t mean for these things to be over 3-3.5k words but clearly i’m incapable of keeping anything short.

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @h0eforjp @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @frederissa @inlovewithallmusic @priv-rose

✦ who slowly starts to let you in, although he tells himself it’s only because you won’t go away and it’s exhausting constantly trying to shut you out, especially when you insist on being around him. He won’t tell you about his day, but he will sit with you in the common room or the library in silence.

✦ who, eventually, does start talking to you only out of pure necessity. If you’re always lingering near him, he might as well use you to his advantage. He’ll allow you to partner him for potions projects so he can blame you if something goes wrong, or tutor you to gain approval from your professors. He consoles himself with the fact that at least you’re not entirely annoying, and can be mildly enjoyable to be around, from time to time.

✦ who does not care for you, as he’s convinced himself, but does care about your welfare. He will wordlessly give you the notes you missed when you were sick. He’ll correct your essay even if you don’t ask. He might even be persuaded to bring you dinner from the Great Hall when you’ve locked yourself in your room studying for the O.W.L.s. He will try not to let his mind linger on how the only world he can think of to describe seeing you sprawled across your rumpled bed is delectable. 

✦ who cannot, to save his life, understand why it bothers him so much when you laugh or flirt or god forbid, even talk with other guys. Nor why he realises that he shouldn’t be noticing the way your shirt is so low-cut that your breasts are practically spilling from your bra. He shouldn’t seethe with anger when he sees a guy you’ve mentioned once before place his hand on your lower back at a party to lead you to dance. He shouldn’t have to resist the urge to hex– or do worse– to these boys when they dare to pull you away from him, even if it’s only for a minute.

✦ who suddenly cannot pull his eyes away from your figure after he sees you in a too-tight and far too-revealing dress one day. He can’t stop himself from noticing the swell of your breasts in every shirt you wear, especially when you’re wearing that lace bra you think he doesn’t know about. He can’t resist his eyes sliding down to your ass when you wear that tiny fucking skirt. He has to excuse himself when your skirt rides up one afternoon and he gets a glimpse of lace also covering that pussy of yours.

✦ who tries to resist thinking of you that way at first, but doesn’t last for long. He takes himself in hand nearly every night– has to, or else he can’t think properly in class– closing his eyes and imagining it’s your hand stroking him instead of his own. Tries to picture your breasts fitting into his hands, and your cunt pulsing around him. When he comes, it’s your face in his mind and your breasts covered in his cum instead of his bedsheets. 

✦ who cannot help but snoop in your dresser every time he comes over to your dorm. You’ll be in the bathroom and his hand will be stuffed in your underwear drawer, fingering the lace of your panties and wishing he was pulling them down your legs instead of pretending to while he’s listening for your footsteps.

✦ who nearly forgets how to function when he finds a vibrator tucked deep into the back of one of your drawers. He doesn’t dare to probe any further after that, and instead practically sprints back to his own room to deal with the persistent throbbing in his trousers. If you were having trouble, couldn’t you have just asked him? He would be more than happy to oblige. 

✦ who cannot hold himself back anymore when you’re studying in his dorm past curfew one night. You’re in lounge shorts that are cut so unbelievably high on your thighs that he can do nothing except imagine his face buried between them. When you ask him what’s wrong– his face has gone a fiery red and his eyes are blown wide with desire, after all– the only thing he can do in response is to slowly drag a finger up your leg, his intention clear. 

✦ who wastes no time in divesting you of your shorts or those beautiful lace panties– fuck, they do look so much better on you than they did in your drawer– or in plunging his fingers in between your folds. He commits every sound you make to memory, working you open with his fingers before going in with his mouth.

✦ who realises the second he tastes you he will spend the rest of his life craving you on his tongue. He cannot get enough of how you look, writhing on the sheets beneath him with your pussy glistening with your slick and his saliva, your neck covered in purpling marks and lips swollen from his kisses. 

✦ who thrusts himself deep before you’ve even recovered from your first orgasm, his cock buried to the hilt and hands roaming over your skin like he’ll never get to touch it again. He savours each moment; every pulse of your walls around him and the way you drag him down to you in a searing kiss, forcing him to start rocking into you before you lose your mind. 

✦ who can’t keep a slow rhythm for long before he’s losing his mind, caught up in the feeling of you grabbing at his chest, and his fingers on your clit, and you clenching around him. He comes, harder and faster than he ever has before in his life, and the only thing going through his mind is how this is so much better than his imagination. 

✦ who will never tell you just how long he spent aching for you, his eyes locked onto your thighs and hand brushing against your ass whenever he could manage it, and then recalling it later each night whenever he had time to wrap his hand around his cock and pretend it was yours instead. Now he can have the real thing. 

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @h0eforjp @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @frederissa @inlovewithallmusic @priv-rose

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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it wasn’t unknown knowledge who George Weasley was — he was one half of the infamous Weasley twins. two troublemakers who have been terrorizing Hogwarts for years, and never seem to stop no matter how high or low their pranks get.

the two both bared the same identical face and hair, yet have vastly different personalities that make them different in their own way.

Fred was obviously the more louder twin, often expressing his feelings with his voice rather than his actions. he was the brawn of the pranks, gathering attention and surfing in the audience. Fred was more of a ladies man — ladies just flocked to him easier.

George on the other hand, was the more quiet yet calculated twin. he was often the brains behind the pranks, making sure nothing doesn’t accidentally malfunction or self-combust at any given moment. he wasn’t much of a ladies man, although.

during your first year, you pretty much were mentally adopted by the twins.

you were younger, more nervous, and had a more rounder face than you do now. when they saw you for the first time, they automatically picked you up and dragged you to the train.

ever since that fateful day, you and the twins have been thick as thieves. sure, you didn’t contribute much into the pranks because that wasn’t your specialty, but you did often then not get them out of trouble with Professor McGonagall.

whenever they needed somebody to be on the lookout, you were there. they needed somebody to try out their new batch of extendable ears? you were there. both the twins got in trouble by Professor McGonagall? you flicked your eyelashes and suddenly they were left off scotch free.

so, it didn’t take long for you to garner feelings for one of the twins. people often rumored you were secretly dating one of them, and Fred would always be the one they guessed.

sure, you loved Fred. he got you out of your comfort zone numerous times and you never imagined life without him. but dating him? that didn’t sound right.

your feelings for George started during a Quidditch match. it was Gryffindor vs Slytherin, a game that was doomed from the beginning.

Oliver Wood was already barking orders towards his team, and you looked over the stands from where you were to see Fred and George, both leaning against their brooms, looking as if they were going to fall any second.

that’s when George fell.

it had caught you off guard — seeing George tumble to the ground and eat dirt, but it made a weird flutter in your stomach. why did seeing George so carefree make you feel that way? you always seen George act careless, so why was this moment different?

you tried to question it, but it got even worst. you don’t even know how it happened — it just happened. one second you were seeing George like your best friend and the next you wanted to kiss him.

everything made sense after that; your stomach having butterflies, your body getting unusually warm whenever he got close, the way you wanted to impress him without even realizing it, and how you always wanted to be around him.

so, you were in love with him, right?

right, but you didn’t want to admit it.

“come on, Y/N. just admit it, you like my brother.” Ginny playfully rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest as she faced towards you. Ginny was the youngest and only sister out of all the Weasley children.

Hermonie nodded, “yeah. just admit it, you like him.” she smirked, earning a glare from you.

“just say it — it’s that easy!” Angelina immediately said after, fluffing up a pillow from the couch, placing it on her lap as she leans on it. you quickly shake your head.

“i don’t like him. he’s my best friend.” you said it more to try to convince yourself than trying to convince others. Luna hummed, “it sounds like you weren’t so sure.” you groaned.

Lavender playfully scoffed, throwing a stuffed animal your way. “come on, Y/N! we all see it! you two always make gooey eyes to each other, it’s honestly sickening.” she laughs.

“girl, you can’t conceal it. it’s there in bold and everything.” Daphne giggled, earning a snicker from Astoria. “we can see right through you, y’know?” you grained even louder than before.

“this is so frustrating! i don’t like George!”

the girls all collectively groaned, not believing you in the slightest. Hermonie stood up first, hands on her hips, looking as if she’s about to give the scolding ever known to mankind.

“Y/N, are you trying to convince yourself you don’t like him? or are you trying to convince us?”

you heard a few snickering from the other girls, making your face burn hot. you whined, leaning against the wall dramatically. the girls all collectively got up, pacing behind you.

“we know how you’re feeling, who you’re thinking of,” Luna hummed, her eyes gazing over your figure. “you swoon, why deny it?” Ginny laughs, sliding her hand down your arm.

you sighed, “i won’t say i’m in love,” the girls all collectively sigh.

“is it too cliché?” Astoria asked, circling around you, her gaze going up and down your figure. she knew how much you wanted to keep denying these feelings, but it felt like slowly but surely you didn’t even know yourself.

“what makes you find him most appealing?” Daphne says as you felt your face grow even more hot. the girls giggle under their breaths, surrounding you.

“nothing appeals me! they’re both loud, my best friends. sure, he has beautiful ginger hair, amazing eyes ..and merlin ..that smile ..”

the girls looked at you dumbfounded. sure, you were always quiet about your romantic life, not really having any boyfriends nor girlfriends of any extent. yeah, you did have some flings, but they were mostly acting like ‘middle school’ relationships than anything else.

“GIRL!” Angelina erupts, shaking your shoulders out of your daze, causing you to squeal. “you’re in love with him!” she cups your face, “like — love, love him!” your face burns even more than you can imagine.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

George was convinced the girls were hiding something very important from him.

for the past 2 weeks — ever since the infamous girls sleepover that was held at the Gryffindor common rooms — the girls have been giggling and pointing at him.

at first, he thought they were making fun of him. no girls usually giggle at him, that was more of Fred’s lane.

so, when all of a sudden, all of the girls he’s known since he started Hogwarts were acting different, he was wondering what the hell happened at that infamous sleepover.

George was just walking into the Gryffindor common room when Ginny and Angelina were giggling like young school girls, whispering to each other and pointing at him.

he tried asking his sister about it later, but she just dodged the question like a punch.

the other time, George was in Quidditch practice when Katie and Angelina were snickering. Oliver Wood tried to get them to quiet down but they just glared at them. the two girls kept pointing and giggling.

then, after that, every time Y/N is with any of these girls, it’s often like they were trying to have George purposely see Y/N.

Y/N was his best friend, of course he would see Y/N. he was wondering if Y/N was secretly in on all this teasing and giggling he gets from all the girls.

somehow, even Fred was on it!

Fred was more of the ladies man, so it was obvious he would jump on this bandwagon with all the girls. George would see Fred snickering and acting very dramatically with all the girls.

he would also see Fred tease Y/N, poking her and making her blush restlessly. George was a bit frustrated about the whole ordeal. him, Y/N, and Fred had always been a trio, and now it’s looking more of a duo now.

so, here he was. sulking in his childhood bedroom the day before April 1st, aka him and his twin brother’s birthday.

his mother — Molly Weasley — had invited practically everybody over to the Burrow for the party she would be holding for her twin sons. she made sure the house was deep clean, so the guest would feel at home.

of course, one of those guests were Y/N. and right now? you was currently being interrogated by everybody else in the home.

it’s not like he disliked you — he loves you, matter of fact — but with your recent interactions? it felt like you wanted to be away from him than anything else.

when you fist got here, Angelina and Katie peaking from behind you, as soon as you saw George, you quite literally hid behind Angelina and Katie, causing them to snicker under their breaths.

during lunch, Molly had tasked you and George to gather some fruits and vegetables from the garden. you tried to offer up Ginny instead, but Molly insisted.

when George had entered his room, he had seen you and Fred going to town on some honeysuckles, and as soon as you seen George, you instantly ran out the room, making Fred shake his head in disappointment.

George didn’t like the fact you were giving more attention to Fred — and he also didn’t like that it felt like everybody was on a joke that he wasn’t apart of.

currently, everybody was outside on the lawn, some of them dipping into the small lake that rested right outside the Burrow.

you were currently perched on the dock, your mind not resting ever since you got here. you wanted nothing less to wrap your arms around George and kiss him without any thought in the world.

but your body wanted nothing but to freak out whenever you seen George. your body would turn to jelly, and your legs would walk themselves.

you felt bad — practically ignoring your best friend and crush, but your body couldn’t physically function around him. it felt pathetic, but you felt nervous even more.

water splashed on you, causing you to get out of your thoughts. you look to see Fred and Ginny chest deep into the lake, a smile perched its way to your face.

“come on, Y/N! go get George so we can all have fun in the lake!”

your heart starts beating against your rib cage, gulping. “go get George?” you repeated, to which both of them nodded. before you could even register anything, your body was moving against your will.

there was a nonstop storm going through your head as you walked into the Burrow, your bare feet making contact with the cold floor, making you shiver.

you climb up the steps, and your mind just completely goes fuzzy. radio static replacing your thoughts as you mindlessly climb up the steps, passing by Percy’s room, Ginny’s room, and finally, to the front door of the twins’ bedroom. gulping, you raise a fisted knuckle to knock on the door.

knock, knock, knock.

you heard a few shuffling behind the door, then the door opens with a peak of brown eyes. George looks at you through the creak of the door.

“hey, George ..uh ..they wanted you to come down. to coming the lake. yeah.” you said like you were out of breath, which, to be fair, you kind of were. you nervously smile, resting your hands on your bare thighs.

this made you realize — you were wearing your swimsuit, with a pair of shorts.

George huffed, rolling his eyes. you were a bit taken aback, not really used to his attitude persona of his. he opened the door more, leaning against the edge.

“why did they ask you to come get me? couldn’t they get someone else?” he snared, making you take a step back in shock. why was he talking to you like that?

“what the hell has gotten up your pants?” you shot back instantly, getting a bit ticked off by his attitude and mood. George rose an eyebrow, laughing under his breath.

he crossed his arms across his chest, “seriously? you’re asking me that? gosh, Y/N, i thought you were more smarter than that.”

your jaw dropped. George has never been mean to you. sure, he did tease you, but it was never to his extent, and he never sounded so sure of it.

“okay, George, seriously, what the hell has gotten into you? first, you don’t hang out with any of us, and now you’re acting like a total bitch to me. so we’re not leaving until you tell me what the hell had gotten into you.”

George glared at you, scowling like a kid who dint get what they wanted at the candy store. he takes a look outside the wall, to the left, then to the right.

deciding he didn’t want any onlookers, he quickly grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the room, closing the door behind you.

you tumble into the room, almost losing your balance due to how fast he had dragged you in. you instantly straighten up, wanting to stand your ground against George, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach was bubbling, the nervousness getting to you.

it hurt seeing how George was treating you, and you wanted to know what gotten him in this sort of mood.

“alright, i’ll tell you what’s been up,” he starts, his brows furrowing lower and lower as he looked at you — but he can’t help but noticing the tremble in your legs. “you — and everybody — have been hiding something from me.”

you froze. hiding something from George? none of you have technically been doing that. you tilt your head in confusion, but before you could say anything else, George continues.

“ever since that damn sleepover, all the girls have been giggling and snickering around me! i can’t even do anything without one of you girls pointing at me and whispering!”

your face burns. oh gosh. you know what he is taking about.

“now, i thought it was just a girls thing. i could live with that — but Fred is on it too? it feels like you all are having a secret thing behind my back! it’s unfair!” he pouts, his teeth grinding against each other.

“i don’t like being the clueless twin brother, and i hate the fact you and him have gotten so close! it’s supposed to be a trio! not a duo!”

you felt horrible. you didn’t realizing your secret crush on him was causing all of this. you thought having Fred in on the secret would make your chances go higher, but looks like it twisted into something worst.

“so, just tell me, is there something between you and Fred? so i can stop looking so stupid.”

he calms down, but you can obviously see the anger still looming in his body. his hands shaking, the way his chest breaths up and down, his ginger hair casting over his face as he looks down.

you sighed. you might as well tell your feelings now before everything gets out of hand. he thinks you have something with Fred — which is far from what’s actually happening.

“George ..i- ..i don’t have anything with Fred,” you mutter, rubbing your arm in embarrassment. you felt horrible for making him think that way. “actually ..i kind of ..no, i do like you. i love you, George.” you shut your eyes instantly, afraid to see his reaction.

your heart beats restlessly against your chest, your ears burning. it’s quiet for a few seconds, and you think the worst: you’re about to lose your best friend, get kicked out of the Burrow; and never interact with George ever again.

thankfully, none of that happens. rather, you felt warm hands cup your face and your eyes widen to see familiar eyes look into yours. before you even realize it, a pair of soft lips make contact with yours.

holy shit. you were actually kissing George. holy shit!

you close your eyes slowly, embracing the moment. your heartbeat finally calms down, but it’s still running a marathon. everything felt like it froze for a moment, and it probably had.

you couldn’t believe it. you were actually kissing George! was this a dream come true? you probably should’ve punched yourself real quick to make sure.

before you can even do anything, the door slams open, and your eyes widen, causing George to unlatch himself, causing you to frown.

you turn your head to see Fred, with Ginny and Harry on each of his side, all of them sharing the same exact shocked facial expression on their faces. they froze in their positions.

“this is what you were doing!? snogging my brother!? finally!”

You were supposed to be working on your Charms essay, but all you could think about was the small feeling nagging at the back of your mind. You were so absorbed with the thought that you didn't realize you were biting the tip of you quill until Fred pulled your hand away from you, propping his feet up on your lap.

"What's with the face, Faucett? Need help with your Charms essay?" Fred asked, pouting dramatically when you snapped out of your trance and pushed his feet off your lap. "You hate me."

You scoff and roll up your parchment, placing it away on the side table. "I do not hate you, Fred."

“You do.” He teased and angled you to face him, pulling your legs to lay over his lap instead. He watched you rest your head against the cushions of the couch, making him tap your knee in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You huff and play with the threads of you sweater that Molly had made you this past Christmas, meeting his eyes that were filled with more emotion than you could place. “Nothings wrong with me, but it feels like something in this room is, you know?”

Fred looked over at the other people in the room. There were hardly any people in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday evenings. Everyone was out either making use of the last few hours of freedom they had before classes started the next day or in their dorms, trying to cram for any surprise quizzes.

The only people that were in the Common Room were a group of first years comparing notes, some fourth years playing exploding snap, and a pair of third years conversing quietly in a corner, tucked away from prying eyes and voices—such as Fred Weasley himself.

Fred raised a brow at the two boys who looked away quite quickly when they met the older boy's gaze. He turned back to you for a quick second, replying quietly to your previous comment. “Maybe…”

You crease your brows and look over at the pair of boys as well, “What—?”

“Oi!” Fred hollered at the two third years, making the entire room snap their heads over at the sudden boom of a voice. You blew a piece of hair away from your face in exasperation, giving the other students apologetic looks for the commotion.

“What are you blokes whispering about?” He called out, making the third year on the left burn bright red.

You poke Fred's arm when you saw the poor boy's face, not deterred by all his muscles underneath his own sweater. “Fred, stop bothering them."

The same boy looked away from you two, swallowing thickly while his friend pursed his lips in an effort to not laugh at the current situation. While the rest of the room went back to what they were doing, Fred continued to watch the pair, waiting for a response from either one of them.

Finally, after the two boys whispered back and forth—for Godric only knows how long—one of them spoke up, making the red-head beside you perk up instantly.

“Nothing important.” The teen on the right said for the sake of his friend, waving a dismissive hand in your general direction. “Just trying to figure out how to ask this girl out."

The second you both heard those words come out of the boy's mouth, you looked over at Fred who was already looking back at you with a grin that could only be described as smug.

You sighed, knowing you couldn't do much to stop whatever Fred planned on doing. “Freddie, don’t—“

He stood from his spot on the couch, hands placed on his hips like he suddenly knew the answers to everything in the universe. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right man—“

“—Boy—“ You quipped from his side as you followed him to ensure he wouldn't do or say anything stupid.

“Shut up.” Fred half-heartedly pushed you to the side, still catching you when you stumbled over your feet. He stuck his thumb in the other teen’s direction, “Anyway, who does he fancy?”

You roll your eyes at his antics and give them a warm, reassuring smile, hoping it would take their minds off whatever foolishness Fred has in plan. “First, what are your names?”

“I’m Oliver, and he’s James.” The boy on the right said tentatively, the one on the left—which you both now knew was James—nodding in agreement.

Fred clasped his hands together and nodded mindlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the boys. “Alright, I’m Fred and she’s the pain in my arse—“

“Can you focus?” You groan and shove him to the side, laughing loudly when he threw you over his shoulder to get you to stop interrupting—although the two of you knew it was hopeless.

“Oliver, who does James fancy?” Fred asked, ignoring your calls and protests.

You continued to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, huffing when he held onto you tighter. At that point, the rest of the Common Room gave you odd looks, making you flush a bright pink in slight embarrassment.

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, hesitantly as he stared at you and Fred in concern and confusion, unsure what to do in the situation. “Uhm… He fancies this girl in Hufflepuff named Lila—“

You gasped and hit Fred hard in between his shoulder blades, earning a groan as he dropped you from his arms. You spun around and gave James a soft look, knowing exactly who Lila was. You had tutored her last year in Potions—and based on your five minute interaction with James—the would be the perfect pair.

“She’s really bright and gifted in Herbology.” James says softly, making your heart ache at how he spoke about Lila in adoration.

“Have you tried to ask her out before?” You ask and watch him fidget with his hair.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away from your face toward the ground. “I’m too nervous.”

After recovering from you sudden attack, Fred clapped his hand on James’ back, ruffling his hair when the boy looked up at him. “Don’t be, you look handsome and clearly you’ve got the brains for it.”

In an instant, you saw an increase of confidence in the thirteen year old, making you grin at the sight. Maybe Fred being nosy in other students’ conversations wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

You watched for another second before murmuring something to Fred about finally finishing your Charms essay, giving the two boys one last smile. Before you left for the couch, Fred subconsciously pressed a kiss to the top of your head, knowing you were leaving even though he barely listened to you as he continued to speak to the younger students.

“Ask her out to a picnic by the lake or in one of the outdoor gardens—Not Hagrid’s, of course. That would be a nightmare.” Fred clarified with a small smirk decorating his face, leaning back on one of the armchairs behind him as the boys listened intently.

“Thanks, I’ll ask her tomorrow after class.” James replied with a new found determination in his voice.

Finally snapping out of his small trance, Oliver switched his gaze from Fred to your spot on the couch, tilting his head with a raised brow. “How did you ask your girlfriend out?”

Fred copied his facial expression, turning his head to follow the boy’s eye line when they landed on you. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue before clearing his throat, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Oh, we’re not dating.”

“Sure seems like it.” Oliver crossed his arms and raised both brows this time, judging Fred like he was a liar. “You can’t give out advice about dating without having a girlfriend yourself.”

“My advice is fool proof!” Fred blurted, almost baffled that a thirteen year old accused him of spreading false information—though he has done that multiple times before to everyone he knew

“Then how come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Fred opened his mouth and shut it, putting his index finger up toward the boys before turning and walking over to you. He stood in front of you with his hands in his front pockets, waiting until you finished your thoughts on the essay before speaking.

“Did you know people think we’re dating?” He said quietly, earning a wide-eye look from you. Based on your reaction, you probably didn’t know either. “Yeah, weird. Those two boys thought we were dating.”

“That’s the weird feeling I was getting in this room.” You say as you twirl your golden charm necklace between your fingers, looking over at the two boys who suddenly looked guilty and mischievous at the same time. You raise a brow and look back at Fred with a small smirk, making him grin back.

“Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they believed it took you two seconds to land a girlfriend?”

Fred bent over by the waist, lips mere centimeters from yours. “And what do you have in mind, Faucett?”

Your smirk widens before you pull him in by the collar of his sweater, lips meeting his faster than anyone could have expected it. As if someone flipped a switch in Fred’s mind, he quickly reciprocated, hands coming up to cup the back of your neck and cheek.

For a second, the two of you were completely immersed in each other that you didn’t realize that—once more—the Gryffindor Common Room stared. This time, they stared only for a brief moment before looking away. It seemed like everyone expected it since the moment you both walked into the Common Room together on any Sunday evening.

You separate after the kiss that lasted longer than you both thought it would last, the two of you slightly out of breath, but still wearing eat-shitting grins at fooling the two third years in their small corner. Fred glanced at them from the corner of his eye, winking at Oliver specifically when he stared with a gaped mouth.

“That’ll be the best piece of advice they’ll ever get.” You laugh quietly as Fred plops down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your abdomen, warm against your skin under the sweater. “You’re not going back to those two boys?”

“Nah, it’ll ruin the fun.” He drawled and looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder unexpectedly. You looked down at him and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation from the one Weasley you liked a little more than the others.

“So, you? Me? Next weekend? Hogsmeade?” He asked with a confident smile, twirling a piece of your hair in between his index and thumb.

You bite back a smile and pat his cheek, his own smile never wavering. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Weasley.”

“Is that a yes?” He questioned, looking between your eyes.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” You say as you go back to finishing your essay, not caring for the blush that rose to your cheeks.

You and Fred have been friends since first year, but it never crossed your mind that you could ever be in the relationship everyone assumed you were in. Not until this year. It felt like you clung to every single word he spoke to you this time, and it felt so different.

All the pranks he would plan with Lee and George was always relayed to you, every gift he planned to give to his family members went through you—you were practically his without officially being his.

“I plan for many things, Faucett.” Fred moved to sit properly and dragged your legs back on top of his lap, messing with the embroidery on your jeans. “But I never planned on someone like you kissing me just to mess with two thirteen year olds.”

“You went along with it.” You clarify, knowing damn well that he also wanted to prank the two teens. Besides, it’s not like it was your first time kissing Fred. Not at all.

Your gaze meets his, “So what, you actually want to take me out on a date now?”

“Yep.” He continued to grin and trace the embroidery.

You carefully tuck away your Charms essay once more, continuing to hide the smile that came with the thought of going out with Fred Weasley. “I guess I’ll go on a date with you.”

Fred didn’t even know his grin could get bigger, but it did. He pulled you as close to him as he could, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he tilted his chin down to meet your eyes. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You are bad news.” You laugh and melt into him when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You raised a brow at him, “Never planned huh?”

“Nope.” He popped his syllables with a smile so bright you swore the sun would shake in it’s presence. “Never planned.”