meet me in the woods tonight

He had stretched out his hand to you, and despite finding the formality odd, you had reciprocated it nonetheless. It was cold to the touch and slightly rough. His hair was a tad bit too short you though, his features soft and eyes big and warm with a gleam behind them that you could only describe as presumptously confident.

“Gryffindor team?” you had asked, eyes on his scarlet and gold scarf that was on its way to the floor.

“Not yet, I’m preparing for the upcoming try-outs”

He hadn’t mentioned your father once during the conversation that had turned so long, he had to sit down in one of the stone benches with you following suit. The only time he had brought him up was when he had asked if your father was hard on you about the sport, which you had reasured him wasn’t the case. Then someone had called for him and he ran down the corridor to his next class, waving at you with a "see you later!" After that you had started looking for him during meals and in the hallways, but even when you did find him, you hadn’t dared to actually go and greet him, or even wave your hand. One time he had locked eyes with your at lunch before you had looked away, going completely red in the face and accidentally dropping your goblet of pumpkin juice.

You did however go to the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs and sat on the section of the bleachers closest to the rings. When Oliver stood in front of them, a serious look on his face, you couldn’t help but think that he looked beyond cool, even if you had always found the Keeper head gear to look funny. He didn’t look at you, matter of fact, there didn’t seem to be anything that demanded his attention more than the quafle on the aspiring Chaser’s hands. You could still remember how many shots he stopped and how many he missed -seven and one- and that had only been because his broom had lagged slightly. You recognized the model, a Comet 260 that while well regarded had a tendency to lose it’s touch with time, and it looked like Oliver had been using his for a lifetime. When the trainning had been over you had walked down the stairs of the bleachers and towards the exit, where you heard someone call your name followed by:

“Came to watch?”

Oliver stood in front of you, his hair sticking to his forehead and still catching his breath. He was beaming.

“Yeah! You did really well”

“I don’t know, I failed the last shot”

“That was only one!”

“Every point counts on the pitch”

You had wanted to laugh at his seriousness, but he would have probably not taken it well. And you wanted him to like you.

“I’m sure you will get the position” you finally said, and it felt like the words were leaving your mouth in slow motion “They’d be mad to pass on you”

Oliver laughed and lightly tapped your shoulder. The adrenaline was still running through him, and something told you he wouldn’t have a wink of sleep before they announced the results in a few days.

You remember how heavy your eyelids had been feeling by the time Madame Pomfrey carefully shoke your shoulder.

“You ought to go, child. It’s late now”

You had stired on the chair you had been sitting on for a few hours, Oliver still unconscious in bed. The strange goo that Madame Pomfrey had put on his temple to treat the gash on it was still there, and yet you thought that he looked peaceful. The bludger had hit him barely twenty minutes into the game, and you had been running down the bleachers faster than they had picked him up.

“Go, don’t make me call a prefect”

Madame Pomfrey practically lifted you up from the chair and walked you to the doors of the Hospital Wing before closing them in your face. For days you would visit him in the morning before class, and bring your homework and reading to the Hospital Wing in the afternoon until dinner. The more days that passed, the more you couldn’t shake the worry that built up in your chest. Madame Pomfrey had started leaving the chair next to his bed, no longer bothering on putting it back on its place. Then on Saturday you had walked in to visit him and found that he wasn’t there anymore. You never told him you had been keeping him company, and if he had heard he hadn’t commented on it.

Of course the word “love” was far away from your vocabulary at the time, and you would only become aware of its meaning when it had started to eat you from the inside out. Oliver’s indifference while not on pourpose had  started on your second year after you had made the Hufflepuff team. While the year before - and during the summer - you had spent almost every free second talking Quidditch, loyalty to his team was something he took very seriously. As such, mending with someone from the opposing team meant Quidditch talk was way more scarce, and Oliver did not have many other conversation topics. Despite that, your friendship remained, your footsteps following him with animated chatter and casual study session on subjects both of you were awful at. After all, Quiddicth was the only particular thing you excelled at, aside from Charms and Transfiguration, which was the cause of many long evenings helping him out of his barely passable grades.

But there was no other memory as pivotal to your feelings for Oliver, so bright that would find you on your darkest times, than your first Quidditch game. You had played Gryffindor, and despite putting up a decent fight your team had been defeated by fifty points by the time the snitch had been caught, Charlie Weasley waving it in the air victoriously. Shoulders slopped and surrounded by the deafening cheers of the Gryffindor side of the bleachers you hadn’t heard Oliver call your name. You remember trying to take off your gloves, pushing the thick taste of defeat down your throat when his hands had grabbed your face with a bit of force, making you look at him. Sweat shinning on his forehead like dew on an early morning under the bright sun, a halo forming around his head.

“That was brilliant!”

You could remember the hot and damp touch of his fingers, the scent of leather as he held you in place. How you had notcied in that moment he seemed to have grown a few inches taller as his big glistening eyes, only narrowed by the weight fo his smile, looked down upon you with something close to admiration. His breath smelled strangely sweet, hitting your face as he panted in front of you.

“You won, though” you managed to mutter, feeling your legs start to quiver.

“No” he had said “Not to you”

And that right there had been the moment, the first time your child mind and young heart had felt the sharp sting of love. It had been things like these that had been seeding inside of you, blooming with every passing spring, not even the cold of winter able to make your feelings wither. It pained you however how casually his hands had found and held you close like that, as if it was nothing, as if you could just do that back without setting your heart aflame. Oliver Wood was for all intents and purposes, a dense idiot; and you had just fallen in love with him.

It had been your third year that had set the tone for the inevitable situation you would find youself in eventually; Oliver and you passing each other by like strangers, stolen glances all you had left. Fred and George Weasley while annoyingly good at Quidditch were not particularly good with subtlety, and they would never know how influential they had been at accelering the process of your eventual heartbreak. You had to admit you refused to like them because as they played opposite to you, you found yourself envying their technique and how in sinc they were during plays, shooting yours down every time. That’s why it was easy to get mad at them instead of Oliver, or even yourself, when Fred had asked:

“Won’t you introduce us to your girlfriend?”

You had approached the Gryffindors as all the teams waited on the pitch for one of Madame Hooch’s official meetings that took place once a month. There was a History of Magic exam comming up, and while you knew you wouldn’t pass, pretending to study for it would be better with Oliver keeping you company.

“Not my girlfriend”

Maybe if the twins hadn’t been such a constant headache, as he had expressed uncountable times to you, his tone would had been less harsh.

“But--”

Despite Fred’s teasing tune he had actually meant it, completely under the impression that Oliver was just acting tough whenever you talked to him in front of them. Especially ever since their first game against Hufflepuff.

“Merlin, her arms will break” George had joked to Fred once they were in the air, having stood in front of you as the teams greeted each other.

However there hadn’t been much laughter on their way back to the locker room after the game, Oliver in an espacially foul mood.

“Weren’t you listening yesterday during practice?”

Fred and George had been, in fact, not listening. As a result, despite Gryffindor winning the game, they saw themselves floored and unprepared for both Cedric’s agility and the reckless yet effective way you’d directed your bladgers at the Gryffindor players to keep them out of his way.

“Thought she’d be nicer” said George when they had walked into the cluttered dark room.

“Why?” Fred made a face “She doesn’t even look nice”

“You could learn a thing or two” the twins winced at Oliver’s stern voice behind them. While happy that they had won, he was beyond satisfied “She’s an Under19 contender you know? I told you to watch out for her, flew Alicia out her bloody broom twice”

Alicia Spinnet had been busy trying to apply a reparation charm she was reading from a book on her shattered broom.

“Under19?” George looked betrayed “Why didn’t you say?”

“I did! Don’t you read Monthly Snitches anyway?”

“Do they look like they read?” had asked Angelina, looking at the twins. Fred found that particularly funny.

“You should have seen how bummed out he was when she was sorted in Hufflepuff” Charlie, who was carefully taking off his gear, chimed in “You could tell he had planned the program for the next six years in his head the moment he heard her last name”

Oliver had too much respect for Charlie to talk back to him, so he just scoffed and took off his head gear with a bit too much force.

“Whatever, would you really like us to play like that?” asked Fred, making a face “Because I think she ought to be re-sorted into Slytherin. She was all over the place!”

“You get to be reckless when you are that good” he muttered, not bothering to look up.

“Seems like someone has a crush” Katie hummed from beind Oliver, her eyes locking with Angelina who giggled behind the twins.

“Shut up” was all Oliver had said, and so Fred had been under the impression that there was obviously something between the both of you.

But it was only after George had elbowed him, signaling towards you, that he saw that he had made a mistake. Your smile was frozen in place in an almost unnatural way and your body had turned stiff. He could swear you had stopped breathing as well.

“You planning for next year?” Oliver had asked you, completely ignorant to what had just transpired “That captain spot is looking really easy”

“Oh” something heavy was finding it’s way to the pit of your stomach, dense and suffocating “Yeah”

“You need to start planning ahead, much to do with your lot”

“Yeah, right. See you later”

Fred and George watched as you walked back to your team, Fred earning another elbow to the side that he didn’t bother to complain about. Oliver also found himself staring at you as Cedric Diggory leaned over to whisper what seemed to be a joke in your ear. A very funny one it seemed, as you playfully slapped his arm. He had made a fuss about Diggory the moment he had seen him at the Hufflepuff try-outs, almost earning you a scolding from Ms. Pince a few weeks later.

“There’s only one reason why he’d want to be seeker” he had whispered indignantly, gripping his quill so hard it almost broke the parchment “He wants to stand out”

Sitting opposite of him on the table you had abandoned your Potions book, no longer interested in pretending that your attention wasn’t somewhere else. Oliver’s hands holding the quill in a peculiar way between his surprisingly slender fingers, the apple of his neck bobbing up and down occasionally, and in this case the way his accent thickened when he got upset.

“What are you talking about?” you had asked, almost absent minded, bitting the end of your own quill like an idiot.

Oliver looked up from his paper and stared hard at you, his eyes momentarily looking down before shooting right up again, then away from you.

“Seekers have to be light, and fast. He just wants to be the center of attention by going against that”

“He is fast, though”

“Pretty boy, that’s what he is” he muttered as he went back to his paper.

You hummed in response, his stubborness making you swing your feet under the table at how endearing you found it.

“What” Oliver had risen his head in a swift motion, staring at you as if you had just said something awful “Don’t tell me you agree”

His tone had rose significantly, a few heads turning towards in your direction. Dunking your head out of abashment you shot him a confused look.

“What?”

“Diggory. You think he’s cute” he said the last word with almost repungance.

“I mean...” you had not expected that, the brief pause seeming to agitate him even further, his head shaking as if to hurry the answer out of you “He’s also very nice, and people like him a lot”

Oliver shook his head, ink splattering everywhere when he sunk his quill on the bottle. A few droplets fell on your book, darkenning the word “hence” and swallowing it whole, making it disappear.

“It’s all Angelina and Alicia bloody talk about. Diggory this, Diggory that”

Oh how much you had wished you could have told him that he was all you could think about too, your borderline pathetic adoration way beyond anything Angelina and Alicia could ever feel. You fantasized sometimes about telling him that sort of stuff, imagined his cheeks flushing pink and his eyes going wide, a stutter falling from his parted plush lips.

“I still prefer you”

You bit your tongue, knuckles white as you grabbed the edge of your skirt underneath the table. Oliver simply scoffed, eyes never leaving his paper.

“Thank you very much” he said drily, a hint of sarcasm laced in his words.

Despite what one might think, that didn’t bring you down. After all, it had been a while since you had come to terms with the fact that Oliver either wasn’t aware of your feelings or pretended not to be. You found yourself missing the days where he’d beam at your compliments, but ever since becoming captain no praise was good enough for him. Similarly, praise didn’t come your way anymore if it wasn’t wrapped in some kind of critique about your technique. Oliver jotted down the last line he had written with a groan and leaned back on his chair, eyes closed and his hands behind his head. He had written the same sentence twice. You tried not to pry at how the uniform shirt stretched around his biceps, or how his loose tie rested over his chest that rose and fell with a tired sigh. You stood up from the chair, attempting to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to exacerbate the students looking your way any further. You had stood next to him, his tired brown eyes fell from the ceilling to you.

“I’m going for dinner” you whispered.

“I have to finish this”

You had nodded, smiling at him as a silent goodbye. You hadn’t started to walk away when he said:

"Wait, I’m coming with you”

If there was something you couldn’t remember was how many times you had fantasized about your first Hogsmade visit. The image of Oliver and you walking side by side, arms and hands brushing against each other in search of warmth and the smell of sweets in the ir. Reality hadn’t started far away from that image. A blush had crept up from your chest up to your cheeks when Oliver had found you among the aglomeration of students waiting at the entrance of the castle. He had made his way to you, hands in the pockets of his courdoroy jacket, his thin black turtleneck underneath hugging his athletic figure in a way that made you dizzy. You had asked him to hang out with you, something that had felt more nerve-wrecking than it should have been for just a friend. The carriage had seemed spacious to you, but only once Oliver had sat down did the difference in size register properly in your head. His legs seemed to take most of the space on the seat, his knees bumped and rested against your thinly covered ones, the rough fabric of his jeans causing you to squirm and shift on your seat. It always had killed you knowing that he was always oblivious to the effect he had on you, how he could touch you so carelessly and with ease; how he wouldn’t have cared if you had moved your leg away. The seats in front of you were taken by two Gryffindor girls that had stolen a few glances at you both before bursting into poorly covered giggles.

“Hey” they had said.

“Hey” Oliver said back, it was obvious they knew each other.

You noticed how Oliver’s knees would slightly touch those of the girl in front of him whenver there was a small bump on the road, and wondered if he ever noticed things like that. If anyone’s touch could make him feel the way he did to you. The thought made you want to vomit.

“You are going to love Spintwitches” Oliver had said, excited.

“What’s that?”

“Quiddicth store” you rolled your eyes “What?”

“You said you’d give me a full tour... You better not just drag me there for the whole trip”

“I won’t!”

The girls suppressed dainty laughs behind their scarfs.

“You could try Madam Puddifoot” said one of them, her voice sweet and teasing.

“No way” had said Oliver immediately, as if the mere mention of that place had burnt him “Is not like that anyway”

“Oh” said the girl, and they didn’t say anything else during the rest of the trip.

You hadn’t understood what that exchange had meant until you’d been in front of the building yourself. You had wanted to come in before you had read the name, understandind what Oliver had meant, that bitter taste you were so familiar with bubbling up your throat. The whole walk through High Street had been a blur, your mind playing the image of that Gryffindor girl holding onto Oliver’s shoulder to get down from the carriage over and over again, how she had turned to thank him as she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The facade was of a powder pink, the paint slightly chipped from the passage of time, colorful sweets catching your attention through the wide windows displays. Dozens of couples smiled at each other inside, hands being held and smiles reciprocated, the feeling so foreign to you it made the world feel a bit colder. It really wasn’t like that, you already knew that.

“Dreadful” Oliver found his place next to you.

Your hands closed onto fists and you bit your lip.

“I think it’s cute”

“It’s a trap. I’ve seen friends get dragged in by girls, never to be seen again” he joked and you couldn’t stop your brows from furrowing, eyes fixed on the way some guy you recognized from Potions class played with his girlfriend’s fingers.

“Well, I am a girl, and all the boys in there look very happy to me” your turned around, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye “Not like you would get it”

“What?” he followed after you “I’m not clueless you know” he sounded quite offended “I just don’t get it”

“Lucky you” you mumbled, not sure if he had heard you.

Oliver stopped walking and you turned around to face him with a huff. He lifted his hands in the air, a mix of annoyance and confusion in his face. The same face he made when Gryffindor would get penalized during a game

“Like, you want to go in? We can go in if you bloody want!”

It was as if your face had burst into flames. What was he saying?

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked, voice rising comically as you looked anywhere but him. People were definitely starng now.

“You are the one getting mad!”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are!”

“Where is that bloody Quidditch store!”

Oliver huffed and closed the distance between you both, took a deep breath as he scanned your features, an obvious mix of embarrassment and evident anger in them as you looked away.

“Come on” is all he had said, giving a short tug at your scarf and walking ahead of you down the street.

You walked there with a strange feeling looming over your heads that immediately disipated the moment you entered the place. Oliver’s face changed to that of a child at a candy store, immediately walking along the corridors decorated with Quidditch equipement. Is not like you hadn’t wanted to go there, after all, Christmas was approaching. Last year you had gifted Oliver a small chest, which he hald held and turned around in confusion.

“It’s for all the letters I send you, I know they are a lot” you had scratched the back of your head, and in a sad attempt to sound casual you added “I mean, if you still have them”

“Of course I have them”

There had been reassurance and mild offense in the look he had given you. Then his eyes had widened as if he had just remembered something. Something awful.

“Yeah, wait here. I’ll bring yours”

He stormed off from the Great Hall and didn't come back until the teachers were hurrying all of you to leave for the train, running down the stairs and stopping in front of you, panting.

“For you”

He held something in his hands, black and shapeless. When you took it from him, you realized it was a scarf: his scarf. The one you’d seen him wear multiple times. The one you had been wearing at that exact moment, especially selected for your first trip to Hogsmade with him. He didn’t comment on it.

You had looked around the store, a few items catching you attention. He was standig by the shelves, heavy book open in his hands. Your feet stopped in front of his, some strands of your hair failling onto the pages as you lowered your head to read it too. He put them aside like a curtain, holding them onto place as his eyes went over the same parragraph a few times.

“You know” he started, his lips pressed together as if winning time “If you want to go there, I’ll go with you”

He propably heard the breath catching in your throat, close as you both were. The weird tension had dissipated and had been replaced by something else, something that felt terribly bittersweet.

“Where?” you feigned.

Oliver drew in a sharp breath, eyes never leaving the book.

“Bloody pink house of horrors”

It was strange, how unhappy that sentence had made you. Your heart, far from accelerating fell all the way through to your stomach. You forced a smile and a playful tone out of you.

“Are you mad? What would people think” You weren’t preocupied with how shaky the laugh that had crept out of your throat had been, but about how pathetic it was that deep down you had wanted him to retort that, to insist in going with you. “Also I’d like to go with someone who wants to take me there”

Too occupied looking elsewhere but him, you missed the way his jaw tensed before he swallowed.

“Yeah, right” he closed the book, a thin smile not reaching is eyes “You’ll have to find yourself a nice boyfriend then”

You reciprocated a similar fake smile.

“Guess so”

You couldn’t remember what you had given him that Christmas, nor what he had given you, that day at Hogsmade overshadowing most of your memories of that year. As such, most of what you remember happened in your fourth.

It had been the first meeting of the season and the sky seemed to protest at all of you being forced out of bed at 7am on a Saturday. The gray opaque clouds kept any sight of the sun hidden behind them, and as if they were sympathetic to you they protested with a low thunder. Hufflepuff had been walking alongside the Ravenclaw team who greeted you lazily at the Great Hall. Gryffindor as expected had been at the Pitch ahead of time, and you assumed Slythering couldn’t be too far behind you. As usual your eyes scanned the Gryffindor team in search of Oliver, however it had been for a complete different reason this time. You found him talking to George, and you immediatelly blended between your teammates to stop him from looking your way. You hadn’t told him yet what you were sure Ms. Hooch would announe briefly. And so she did after a particularly long chat.

“Finally, I want to congratulate Cedric Diggory on becoming the youngest captain of the last fifthy years”

Your teammates celebrated the announcement, playfully pushing Cedric around, his cheeks slightly rosy. Some Ravenclaw and Gryffindor players had joined with scattered cheers, even a few Slytherins clapped once or twice. Then a question cut through the air.

“What?”

While Oliver’s voice hadn’t been that loud, it had been enough to make the cheering cease almost immediately. Everybody had turned to look at him, but his eyes were focused on you, burning a hole through Preece’s wide frame that you were still hidden behind of.

“Is there a problem, Wood?” Ms. Hooch’s voice broke the silence with authority and mild confusion, but Oliver said nothing. “Right, meeting is over. Off you go”

One by one you could hear footsteps starting to walk away from where you stood, bottom lip between your teeth holding your breath as if expecting for a kick to the stomach. It really felt that way, if you were being honest. It had been bad enough having to break the news to Oliver that despite his expectations, when the time had come for you to be offered the captain badge you had decided to turn it down. It had downed on you through the summer that it wasn’t the role of captain you had been lookiing forward to, but the look on Oliver’s face when you told him about it. Maybe the scarce praise he had been giving you through the last few years would come more often, and the look in his eyes as he greeted you as equals on the pitch similar to the one he had given you after your first game. The look he had been giving you as everybody was walking away wasn’t anywhere close to that.

“You alright?”

Despite the question being quiet, you found yourself startling at Cedric’s voice. He had looked down at you, eyes briefly looking to the side as if being able to see Oliver walking towards you out of the back of his head.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you guys”

Cedric hesitated but just nodded, lips pressed together. He had started walking away just in time you thought, as Oliver was getting close enough to see the lines on his forehead where his brows met.

“Oi” Oliver had called after Cedric, who simply kept walking away without giving him a spare glance “Oi! I’m talking to you!”

“Oliver!” you pleaded, standing in front of him with your hands up in the air.

“That prick? Captain?” he spat, incredulous “Has Hufflepuff lost their minds?”

You couldn’t really blame him, after all this had been your fault. If only you had told him from the get go, faced the way you feared he would have looked at you, the way he was looking at you now, this wouldn’t have happened. “I’ll tell him tomorrow” you had told yourself every day, finding any excuse good enough not to do so, and so all the days had slipped away.

“Oliver...”

“It’s a sport not a popularity contest!” he made sure to emphasize these last words loud enough for Cedric to hear, his figure barely visible behind the thin curtain of rain that had started to fall.

“Oliver!” the sharp edge to your voice had managed to catch his attention, angry eyes setting on you and making you shudder “I got the spot offered to me. I turned it down”

You blurted it out quickly, scared that you would stop yourself in cowardice once again. There was a brief pause, gears turning on Oliver’s head.

“What do you mean?”

You swallowed.

“I... I didn’t want it”

“What are you talking about?” his voice cracked in disbelief “We’ve been talking about you becoming Captain for years”

It was somewhat true, you thought. Oliver had got it in his head that you should become captain the moment you joined the team, being the only one who in his eyes deserved to lead it. You had never corrected him on it, too drunk on the way he seemed to beam at the idea of you becoming captain.

“Cedric will do well”

Bitterness casted itself like a shadow over Oliver’s features, always finding it unpleasant when Cedric’s name came from your lips.

“You’d do better! He barely has a brain to use!”

“You don’t know that Oliver...” you retorted, eyes fixed on the grass. When had it started to rain? “You don’t know him either”

“Well, I know you!”

“Do you?” the question hung in the air louder than you had spoken it. Oliver’s shoulders came up and then down one more time, lips parted but saying nothing. When it had become too much to bear and before he had time to ask what you had meant ,you added “I wasn’t ready, that’s all. Okay?”

Something had flashed behind Oliver’s eyes, soft and vulnerable, then immediately hardening into the stubborness you knew all too well.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You pursed your lips together, feeling the overwhelming weight of a cry creep up your throat. All you could o was shrug.

“Because you really wanted me to be captain? I don't know. I didn’t want to...” disappoint you, is what you wanted to say “Bum you out”

“I just wanted--”

“Well I don’t”

Oliver’s body stiffened at the crack in your voice, louder and more upset than he had ever heard it. Only then did he feel the damp coldness of the rain, clothes sticking to his body and falling down on your face as you nonchalantly lifted your arm to rub your eyes against your sleeve. It occured to him that you had refused to look at him through the entire conversation, and realized he didn’t like it. It was strange and unnatural for him to not be able to stare back at you, your eyes always wide and glistening with something only your eyes seemed to hold. He bit his bottom lip, hand aching to--

“Are you crying?” he had asked, blunt in his surprise.

The question had felt mocking in your ears, making the sour feeling in your chest more painful than it already was.

“No” you lied, and he knew it “It’s just rainning”

You had braced youself for more harsh and stubborn remarks, sporadic fights no matter how rare always ending with Oliver having the last word. Instead however, you felt the light, almost ghostly touch of his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. You felt your body stiffen as it tended to do whenever Oliver touched you no matter how briefly, eyes fluttering for a moment as he abruptly retracted his hand.

“We should get back” he had said, clearing his throat.

You nodded, a strange smile on your lips as you walked in front of him with quick steps. That had been the first time since Oliver could remember that you didn’t wait for him to catch up to you.

It must have been the second or third match of the season, you could’t remember which exactly, that brought what would go down in history as one of the most dignified defeats your house would ever suffer. It had also been one of the worst days in Oliver’s life.

“Hufflepuff needs to counter if they want to catch up!” Lee Jordan’s voice had barely registered on any of the player’s ears at that point, but it resonated loudly through the pitch.

“They need a bloody miracle that’s what they need” had said Oliver through gritted teeth.

Oliver eyes followed your figure as it flew through the pitch, they always did as he was of the opinion you were the only player worh keeping an eye on. These days however that was more difficult than he liked to admit, given your new strategy of orbiting around Cedric the moment he caught sight of the snitch, getting rid of any bludgers that flew his way. Oliver hadn’t agreed with you completely out of pride when you had pesented the idea, but he hadn’t spoken against it either. He’d die before admiting Diggory was any good, and would quit Quidditch before agreeing to the idea of you rubbing elbows with him.

“Can’t that pretty boy accelerate? Oi! Get a new broom!”

“That’s way harsh!” protested Angelina, that sat next to him.

She had to force him to sit down again, Oliver having stood up from his seat, hand cupping around his mouth as if that’d make Cedric able to hear him any better. It was no use however, as both seekers shot up on their brooms towards the cloudy sky, disappearing behind them with you following suit. Cedric’s broom was indeed just a tad bit slower than the snitch, nothing could be done about that, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a way to make it faster. You saw the yellow and green clocks dive down, and tipping the front of your own broom you took in a sharp breath before putting your plan in motion. Cedric hadn’t noticed when you had shown up next to him, his extended arm barely an inch away from the snitch, the Slytherin seeker not any closer. Cedric barely registered the nod you had given him, agreeing to whatever you had asked him to trust you for with a brief glance. You swerved and positioned your broom parallel to Cedric, and in one swift motion you recklessly grabed onto him, frocing you both to spiral on your way down. All the audience saw was a blurry mist of yellow plumenting on its way to the ground, everyone letting out a gasp before Cedric and you separated, crashing at different points of the pitch.

“Cedric Diggory has caught the snitch! The game is over with Slytherin ahead by a hundred points! Slytherin wins” he had said the last part in a lazy manner, which didn’t stop Slytherin from cheering loudly.

However their victory was drowned by the roaring applause coming from every other house, that last play overshadowing the Slytherin win in the eyes of the school. Even Marcus Flinch would compliment you on it a few days later, the interaction the first and last you’d ever have with him. Cedric had managed to stand up, not without tripping over his own feet, his hand aching from the strength he was holding onto the snitch with. He was swallowed in gold and black, his hair getting rubbed violently in a way that could have made him think you guys had won. It also made him slightly nauseous, his world still spinning as wildly as yours.

Oliver’s knuckles had turned white gripping the rails, eyes open wide as if he was trying to burn that memory in his brain, as if blinking would make the details of the play go away. He had risen to his feet the moment he had seen you dive down, heart racing in a mix of excitement and worry. His eyes were still fixed on you, having witnessed the way you had unceremoniously crashed on the sand, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he saw you stand up and walk to your team. Then he saw Cedric scoop you up, lifting you off the ground with little effort like he had done it a thousand times before. Your arms loosely wrapped around his neck, matted wind blown hair catching the light and a wide smile on your face. He didn’t miss the way the female voices in the crowd had cheered a little louder when he had lifted you in his arms.

“What a play!” had said Angelina, shaking Oliver by the shoulders as she cheered alongside the rest of the Gryffindor house to the honorary winners of the game.

The noise from his own house spiked again but Oliver could barely hear it. He was annoyed at the way Diggory seemed to love showing off. Is not like that play had been his idea, he thought, it had obviously been yours. You were probably embarrassed, upset about him taking the credit. You probably hated it. Didn’t you?

“Prick”

Valentine's Day that year had been the first one you had been brave enough to not send Oliver an anonymous gift like you had done for the past four years. You were aware that anyone would have guessed it was you by now, Oliver's friends and anyone who knew him had relaized the first time. Maybe he did know, and that’s why he always reacted so unenthusiastically to them, his subtle way of rejecting you without having to go through the uncomfortable act of doing so. You had approached the Gryffindor table with your mind set on bringing up the secret admirer you knew hadn’t sent anything this time, pathetically hoping he’d sulk even just a bit. He sat there, eyes fixed over pages of strategies that seemed to work only in his head. The sleeves of his sweater had been rised to his elbows, the usual brushes from practice spread across his arms in kisses of red an purple. His hair was a mess from all the times you could guess he had ran his hand through it already. He looked devilish handsome and a total mess, and it was only breakfast.

“Want me to bring you anything from Hogsmade?”

Oliver had been skipping the last visits to Hogsmade, insisting he had to use his free time on planning for the next game against Slytherin. The last few months had also been strange. There was an eerie sense of normalcy whenever you’d talk, something unspoken hanging in the air by a very thin thread that you both pretended not to notice. His head had quickly perked up at the sound of your voice, looking at you for a moment before forcing himself to go back to his notes.

“I’m going, actually”

“Oh, really?” you tried to sound casual “Fancy hanging out a bit later then?”

“I can’t” he replied rather quickly in a strangely proud tone. However as he looked at you out of the corner of his eye he hesitated “I’m going with a girl from class, she sent me a Valentine’s gift asking me to go with her. Veronica Mulnich, you met her”

You had needed a second to process that whole sentence, not only because of what he had said, but because of how quickly he had said it.

“Did I?”

“Hogsmade, last year. Rode the carriage with us”

Oh. So this had been what they called woman’s intuition. An unpleasant feeling like a cold sweat in the back of your neck.

“Which one?”

You had begged for him to not say “the pretty one”, repeating it like a mantra what seemed an impossible amount of times in the very few seconds it took him to answer.

“Curly hair”

“Oh, yeah”

“I guess after years of anonymous stuff she just decided to ask me out”

There was a thin sharp noise as if cracking glass, and you wondered if anyone had heard it coming from your ribcage. Oliver rearanged his notes in no partiuclar order.

“Oh!” your voice was cheerful, almost as painful to hear as it had been for you say “So, is a date then?” Oliver lightly tapped the papers on the table to align them properly “You are going on a date”

He tried to give you a casual look only to look away immediately, as if annoyed. His lips pressed into a thin smile and he nodded.

“Actually I should go, I’m a bit late”

“Right, okay” you had stood up from your seat before he did, nausea bubbling up in your stomach and making the walls of the Great Hall spin. With what little courage you had left you patted Oliver in the shoulder, your touch seeming to burn him, but you didn’t notice “Good luck. See you later”

Your friends had had to drag you to Hogsmade that day, somewheat oblivious to the long shadows cast on your face, the sickened color of your skin and glassy twinkle in your eyes. It hadn’t taken long for your heavy steps to drag you to the back of the group and eventually away from them, too far behind to bother catching up. There was a jolt that ran through you, making you stop and look; call it woman’s intuition. Across the windows of the pink building you still hadn’t had the chance to step into, there sat Oliver with Veronica Mulnich, his body slightly turned away from you. She was talking to him, hand underneath her chin and head titled to the side, a genuine sweet smile on her face. He had said something you obviously couldn’t hear and she laughed wholeheartedly the same way you always did, but it seemed different when she did it. The strain on your jaw as you tried to stop yourself from crying started to hurt too much to keep it up. In a fit of something you couldn’t quite understand you tugged at the scarf on your neck, Oliver’s scarf, and yanked it with so much strength you hurt yourself. Franctic as you had been to run away you bumped head first onto someone, a surprised gasp coming from them.

“Wow, are we in a hurry?”

It was a Weasley twin, you didn’t need to look up to know that, height and voice telling you enough. Even if you had tried to find out if it was Fred or George it would have been futile, the world engulfed in a damp mirage as warm tears fell from your eyes. You had muttered a shaky “sorry” and moved past him, or them, with as much grace and dignity as you had left, throwing Oliver’s scarf in the nearest bin without a second glance.

By the time Oliver and Veronica had left Madam Puddifoot he had ran out of things to say, but thankfully to him she seemed fine carrying the conversation by herself. She had tangled their arms together, slightly leaning onto him for warmth as they had started their walk through Hogsmade, the closeness making their walking a bit awkward, but she didn’t seem to care. Oliver’s eyes were eyeing every store and every group of people, seemingly absent from his own conversation.

“I’m sure town must be gorgeous during Christmas. Do you know if you’ll leave for the holidays?”

She had looked up and was met with his profile, jawline defined and muscles underneath tense. She gave his arm a squeeze.

“What?” he turned to her “Oh, I don’t know yet”

But he had known, he would go home and regret not being able to practice outside, probably write to you. Something made him stop in the middle of the street, Veronica looking up at him in cofusion. From in between the aglomeration of people there were two flashes of bright orange hair, impossible to miss. The Weasley twins were casually standing by one of the narrow streets, which usually would mean nothing good was about to go down. However that hadn’t been what had made him stop. One of the twins had been leaning over to speak to someone, faces too close for comfort, or maybe he just thought that because it had been you George was talking to. Whether Victoria was still holding onto him as he walked in between a group of people who gave him a strage look he wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t be arsed about it.

“Why are you laughing?” had asked George, hands on his knees so his face would be at your level, turning your sobs into a chuckle “Isn’t this better for you?”

“We adapt to short people's needs. Tell your friends"

The Weasley twins weren’t very tactful, but if there was something they had learned from their older brothers was that you should never make a woman cry, and if you ever saw one doing so, you had to fix it. They had dragged you into the more quiet street by softly placing their hands on your shoulders, the surprised cry making them apologize profusely. While not the most careful, Fred and George were nothing short of sharp, a simple look inside Madame Puddifoot enough for them to share a knowing look before they had turned around looking for you.

“Are you trying to catch a cold?” George had taken out his scarf and had placed it around your neck “There are better ways to get to skip class you know?”

“Yeah, we can hook you up” Fred said from where he was standing next to you “Is still a prototype so you might burp bubbles or something, though”

That had made you laugh, distracting you enough to not notice Fred moving beside you.

“Nothing to see here”

You had looked up to see him hands ups in the air, only partially seeing Oliver’s face behind him as he shifted enough to block his path.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, almost demanding.

“Street is closed due to damages”

Oliver tried to edge past Fred, his eyes never leaving George’s hands nuzzling the scarf around your neck, his hands surely grazing the skin of your neck. That wasn’t your scarf, he thought. That wasn’t the scarf he had given you, the one you had worn for the last two years. He called your name once, maybe twice as Fred kept walking in front of him, until you finally dared to look up. Your eyes were red and slightly puffy, tears catching the sunlight in a way that made them sparkle like glass under the winter sun. For a second he had the selfish thought that they looked beautiful. Then the glance was gone.

“Gotta go back to your date, mate?” asked Fred, looking over Oliver’s shoulder at Victoria, who was standing there waiting for him. Something in the way Fred had said it made Oliver flinch, earning him a hard look from him, but Fred didn't budge.

The twins swept you away swiftly with a barricade of jokes , leaving him behind in the middle of the street watching you walk away without as much as a glance as he felt an arm wrap around his again.

Dinner that night had barely saciated Oliver, busy as he had been dunking the fork repeatedly into his plate without ever really bringing the food to his mouth. His eyes were set on where you sat at the Hufflepuff table, your friends sitting closer to you than usual, almost as if they were shielding you from something. His knee was shaking underneath the table, nervously waitng for you to look up towards him. You always did, after all. He could always find you in a crowd, already looking at him and a smile ready at our lips for when he finally found you. You hadn’t looked his way once since he had sat down, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was on purpose. When he saw you get up his knee hit the table so hard it made a few people jump on their seats. He immediately stood up under the annoyed looks of the people arround him and matched your step towards the entrance of the Great Hall, where he managed to catch you before you walked towards the door that lead to the kitchen.

“Oi! What happened there?”

“Oh, hey, sorry” you retracted your hand slowly from where he had held it to stop you “It’s nothing, I just fought with my friend. We made up so it’s alright.

He knew you were lying, but there wasn’t anything he could have said to prove it.

“...okay”

 “How was your date?”

That took him by surprise, the sudden question making him take an unconscious step back, hands burying in his pockets.

“It was... alright. I’m not sure there’ll be another one”

“You spoke too much about Quidditch?”

He knew he could never tell you about what had transpired after he had seen you disappear between the crowd, the image of George Weasley’s hand around your shoulders buried in his memory. There’s no way he could tell you how Victoria had insisted on entering a small shop on the corner of the street, gushing about the cluttered charming decor of the store.

“Smell this!” She had held the bottle below his nose, the strange smell reaching Oliver and making him wince “What does it smell like?”

“You tell me!” he said, a bit annoyed “It smells awful”

“Does it?” she asked, quite shocked “It smells like leather and incense to me”

“What? No it doesn’t” Oliver made a face and leaned forward to smell the contents again. This time it didn’t seem that strong, the distinct scents breaking apart from one another more distinctively “Grass... sweat” Veronica’s face panicked, and she discretely turned his head to sniff over her shoulder “Something else, perfume? What even is this?”

“Amortentia” she had said.

“Oh”

It made sense that Veronica had smelt the distinc leathery scent that always seemed to trail after Oliver, even during Divination: the incense infused class they’ve sat together at for three years. For Oliver however, it seemed to make sense it had been Quidditch. Veronica had laughed drily at that, like he had said it as a joke.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t smell a sport”

Oliver wasn’t stupid, no matter how hard he seemed to try to seem like it at times. He was aware of how familiar the smell was, yet couldn’t really pinpoint it. It was driving him crazy.

“How do you know?” he asked, coming back to you.

“You don’t have many conversation topics”

“I do! We talk about things other than quidditch”

“Do we, though?” you smiled at him, but there was a bitternes behind your words.

“Yeah, well..." You missed the way Oliver stepped forward again, getting a bit closer than he had before, taking a deep breath as he got close to you. You also missed the way he frowned as he realized there was no such scent. He would spend the rest of the school year thinking about it. "She wasn’t the one who sent me the Valentine’s the previous years, by the way”

“Oh” you prayed he hadn’t seen the way you swallowed, your mouth and lips feeling dry “The mystery continues then”

“Yeah I guess” something flickered in his eyes as he stared at you with something that you didn’t quite get “Maybe she moved on from me” he joked, but he didn’t laugh.

Your hands balled into fists, your nails digging into your palm and you managed a small shrug. If only he knew how much you wished you had the ability to do so.

“Maybe”

The walk to the locker room had been slow that afternoon, the sound of brooms dragging against the stone steps the only thing interrumpting the silence that had fallen upon your team the moment the game had ended. That, and the cheers that could still be heard from the Gryffindor house back at the pitch. Your uniform was spottless after you took it off, not a wrinkle had had the time to appear since it had been ironed that same morning. Cedric cleared his throat as he stood in the middle of the room, hands on his waist and uniform still on. You all turned to him, your eyes falling to the floor just like his was. He didn’t say a single word until one of your teammates patted him in the back.

“It’s alright Ced”

He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking out of the room in silence, your teammates following suit with similar comforting remarks. And then it was just the two of you. There was a prolongued silence after the door closed with a loud screech and footsteps disappeared in the distance. Cedric ripped the goggles from his head and threw them against the ground with a crash that echoed on the walls. It made you wince, but you had been expecting it.

“Is not your fault” you murmured.

“And whose is it then?”

You couldn’t deny you were angry, frustrated tears picking at the corners of you eyes the moment you had heard the whistle barely five minutes into the game. How Harry Potter had caught the snitch so quickly was beyond you, but more importantly at the moment was that Cedric was beyond himself.

“I still have my grades” he chuckled bitterly “That’s something, isn’t it”

“I’m sure your parents won’t say anything Ced”

Frustration and embarrassment showed on his face in the form of flushed cheeks. He kneeled down to pick up his goggles and when his eyes caught the light through one of the craks on the door, you realized he was about to cry too.

“You are right, they won’t. It’s all in the eyes, you know”

You had been about to say something when the voices of the Gryffindor players caught your attention, and you found yourself reaching for the door as they tried to open it. Katie was only able to open the door a few inches before you stopped it with your hands.

“We are not done” you said, your small frame attampting to shield Cedric from the team.

“...okay?”

The Gryffindor players stopped behind Katie, Fred and George Weasley rubbing Harry Potter’s head. None of them had broken a sweat either, you noticed. Oliver came in last, asking what was holding everyone up, broom held behind his back like the world belonged to him. When he saw you, the slightly cocky smile he had had on faltered a bit.

“It’s alright” said Cedric, opening the door completely behind you.

“Oh?” said Fred “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything”

Oliver’s eyes darted from you, to Cedric, then back to you and then to the side.

“No, sorry. We were just leaving” you said

Cedric and you got out of the locker room and started to walk away when someone spoke behind your back between forced coughs:

“Nice game”

There was some snickering behind you, catching a glimpse of Oliver reprimanding his team albeit with a smile on his face that quickly fell when his eyes met yours.

That had marked the last Hufflepuff game of your fourth year, and as such there wouldn’t be much opportunity to see Oliver, not that you had been particularlly thrilled to do so. For the first time in your life you had made the effort to not find him between classes nor meals, not because you didn’t want to see him, but because you knew nothing good would happen if you did. That’s why you were shocked when despite what you had thought, Oliver keep spawning around every corner. On Wednesday he had stood in front of the Hufflepuff common room for so long that even your friends started to take pitty on him, but you didn’t budge, only going in after he had left for dinner. It was making you miserable, the lengths you had to go simlply to delay the inevitable fight that would break between you two. That’s why when you ran onto him after Herbology that Friday you had decided to give up and try to be civil.

He was leaning again the stone wall, hands in his pockets and wrinkled sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was time for him to get a haircut too, his unruly hair spiking out at different angles. You couldn’t count how many times a day you longued to just reach your hand and just--

“Didn’t take you for a sore loser” he said, voice getting lost among the animated chatter of your classmates.

You inhaled sharply, the grip on your books tightening.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oliver tilted his head to the side. taking a moment to take you in before looking away with a shrug. The sunlight that had been comming from the window behind him gave him a natural halo, and if you hadn’t been so upset the sight would have been enough to remind you why you were in love with him.

“Are you going to keep avoiding me?” he asked, his tone dry yet poignant.

“I am not avoiding you”

“Oh” he sneered “So you are going to start lying to me too? Cool”

“Have you been following me?”

His smile disappeared in an instant, tonge pocking at the side of his cheek.

“I was just trying to talk to you”

“About what”

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but you had. Oliver turned to you again, but the way he looked at you was harsh. He observed the way you were standing defiantly in front of him, an expression on your face that he had never seen on you, or at least never directed towards him. And all because of that guy.

“Forget about it” he scoffed.

Oliver peeld himself from the wall, not getting too far before you had grabbed his hand and started to pull with, you were surprised to find out, not much resistance. Not a single words was exchanged until you had taken him behind the greenhouse and saw two of your classmates snogging between the vines that crawled up the windows.

“Piss off!” you had said, both running away completely red on the face.

Oliver had to press his lips on a thin line to stop himself from laughing at the scene, his stubborness never allowing him to back down now. You turned back to look at him, a few strands of hair falling in front of your already flushed face, ready for it.

“What” you nudged “Come on, say it”

“Say what”

“Whatever it is you got to say about Hufflepuff, or Cedric for that matter. I’m assuming that’s what you’ve been meaning to tell me about”

Oliver really didn’t like to admit that you were right, being read like an open book was not a favorite of his. When it came to you however he knew he couldn’t escape it, denying it would have been futile. He knew that you knew. Knew what he would say, every word of every sentence, in what order and what tone. And yet you refused to see eye to eye with him.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay”

“Of course I’m not!”

“Then why can’t you agree?”

“On what!”

Oliver finally looked at you with vivid eyes, arms crossed in front of him and brows furrowed so close together they seemed to reach his long eyelashes.

“That you should be the captain!”

“Oh my-- not again Oliver” you had said in exasperation “I told you, I didn’t want it!”

“Bullshit”

It caught you off guard, the way he had said it, perfectly calm and almost calculated.

“I don’t want to lead, I just want to play”

“You just want to lose, you mean?” his smile crooked with spite “Well, does it feel good?”

“No, it doesn’t. But do you know what would feel good?” you had taken a step forward, breath catching in his throat and chest expanding as if preparing for whatever you were about to throw at him “The Head of my house bending the rules in favour of our team so we can have some damn bloody first year prodigy play with us”

To that he had nothing to say, and he hated it. He had kept Harry’s excellence a secret before the season started from everyone but his own team, and also you. Oliver Wood who prided himself in having Quidditch as a first priority had slipped and told you about it, too excited not to. He had expected you to share his excitement, and while you had tried to he had noticed there was a sour twist to the way you had smiled at him at the time.

“Even with Harry you could take us. If only you--”

“If only I did what! What about me? Why do you keep putting all this weight on me like I could fix the team by myself?”

Oliver ran a hand over his face with a groan, arms breaking free and gesturing wildly at you.

“Because you could! Don’t you see how you are the only one in the team who is worth a damn? You have the smarts and you have the technique--”

“I am not you, Oliver! I can’t lead, I’m not a captain!”

“And Diggory is?”

“Yeah, actually! Cedric’s a good leader!”

Oliver flinched at the way his name left your lips, you could see his body stiffen and  the muscles tensing underneath his jaw. For a moment he just stared, brows drawing tight in disbelief. When had he found his way into your life the way he had? What had he missed?

“You can’t be seriously defending him right now”

“He’s got charisma and he’s got leadership, he’s got--”

“Beaten in five minutes by an eleven year old? Yeah, that was pretty class”

That shut you up, and for a very brief second he savoured the way you ran out of things to say. Then something shifted in the air and he got scared. But he would never admit it.

“That’s my friend, you know?”

Oliver looked away with a bitter and humorless chuckle, shaking his head before he asked:

“That’s what they are calling it nowdays?”

There was a small pause, you didn’t notice the way he held his breath.

“And what do you care”

“I don’t”

“I know” he didn’t move or say anything right away, fists flexing at his sides and eyes searching yours for something that wasn’t there anymore “Are we done?”

“Yeah”

That summer Oliver had found himself laying in bed, window open trying to escape the suffocating heat between dozens of Quidditch books and magazines. There was a particular volume that had been thrown into a corner of the room the moment he returned home that year, and still lied there when the orange hue of the late July evening casted its light over it. Hidden in one of the pages there had been an article about your Under19 debut that he had memorized by now, having thought about framing it and gift it to you for Christmas at some point. He had stared at it as he lied in bed, short sleeve t-shirt sticking to his back, the room feeling way too hot out of nowhere. It had been like this whenever he was alone with the thought of you, or more like you in the company of Diggory during summer break.

After that fight neither of you had made a single effort to go back to normalcy, and so you hadn’t talked ever since. It had been weird, losing the cup to Ravenclaw, mind already racing about all the things he wanted to go over with you before realizing he couldn’t do that anymore. You had started sitting with your back facing the Gryffindor table too, something you had never done. Because of this hostile situation he had found himself hidding behind a statue in one of the hallways as he saw you approaching with your friends, the topic of conversation almost making him rip the pages out of the book he was holding. The Diggorys had invited you to spend the summer with them, convinced that your little stunt with Cedric during the Slytherin game deserved proper trainning.

“We need to be more in sync” you had said and his stomach had turned, especially at the way your friends had giggled at that, even if you had told them to “shut up!” embarrassedly right after.

No matter how many books he read the image of you kept popping in his head, hair blowing in the summer breeze with Cedric next to you, sweat clinging to your clothes as you laughed at something he had said. Having breakfast together in the early morning and passing the brick of milk to each other with lazy, sleepy morning grins. Him with an arm around your shoulders as you had a stroll with his parents through London.

Oliver stood from his bed, shaking his head so violently his room started spinning. A few books he had on his bed had fallen with loud tuds, and he left a small groan before bending down to pick them up. He retracted one of them form underneath the bed, his hand gracing something that made him still. He dragged the small silver box from under the bed and stared at it for a few seconds, realizing he hadn’t seen it in almost a year. Had it been any other summer he would have seen it every week, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had used it. The lid opened with the soft click he was so familiar with, and the moment he had fully opened it time seemed to stand still. His body reacted half a heartbeat before he understood, the hairs in his arm standing up with a subtle chill that crawled down his back. There were dozens of pieces of parchment, letters you had sent, pilled inside as carefully as he had been able to keep them. He had lifted one of the letters with a trembling hand and brought it close to his nose, scared to confirm what he deep down already knew.

Grass, from the way it always crunched softly under your feet whenever you had agreed to practice with him during his second year, no one on the team having wanted to use their free time helping him.

Sweat, from the first time he had seen you cry after Hufflepuff lost the chance to the Cup after you joined the team. He had hugged you awkwardly, not really sure on what to do or how to hold you, his nose burying itself lightly on your damp hair that smelled like effort and regret.

And flowers, the scent that had been imprinted in every single letter you had sent him for the last five years, each one making the scent a tad bit stronger, seeping into his life almost impercetibly.

The trip to Hogwarts had been peaceful for the most part, your friends and you deciding to sit towards the end of the train to avoid the loud first years that tended to sit at the front. It was around the thrid hour of the trip that you had admitted to yourself that despite having just had breakfast you were still hungry, leaving the compartment filled with animated chatter to go find the Honeydukes cart. You found it after a few minutes, not really mentally prepared for the sight in front of you. Oliver was standing by the cart, more inconvenienced by not being able to pass by than interested in buying anything. He rarely enjoyed candy, the few times you had seen him buy any was to give it to you back on your second year when he had been able to go to Hogsmade while you had to stay at the castle. He noticed you before you had time to pretend you hadn’t.

“Hey” you had said when you finally joined everyone else at the cart, a sad attempt to be matture about it.

“Hey”

His voice was flat and casual, the kind of casual that takes actual effort.

“How was your summer?”

“Good”

Oliver’s eyes didn’t spare you a single glance, instead darting around the cart as if he had actually planned to buy something.

“Cedric and I got a lot of plays in mind for this year” you said, immaturity and his indifference getting the better of you “We planned them over the summer”

That got him, eyes narrowing ever so sligtly.

“Really?” he said, not even attempting to hide his annoyance at the statement. What would have been the point, though.

“Yeah, I stayed with his family for a few weeks in July. They got lots of space, we practiced a lot”

Oliver inhaled through his nose, slow, like he was trying to keep his heartbeat steady.

“Oh, I bet you did” he grumbled.

There had been the fantiest twitch at the corner of his mouth, more of a half scowl than a smile.

“Are you kids going to buy anything?” asked the old lady, small beady eyes looking at you both impatiently.

You took in a deep breath, his eyes stared at you in anticipation.

“I’m going to beat you this year” you said defiantly, and for a second before you turned around you could have sworn you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips.

But whether your startegies would have been Quidditch Cup worthy or not you wouldn’t have the chance to find out. The incidents surroundind the re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets had gotten Quidditch cancelled and the whole school in a constant state of nervousism.

Everybody was trying to find a way to take their mind off things, and you hadn’t even wanted to think about how Oliver was handling the No Quidditch policy. You had, against what you have told yourself, tried to check on him. Your eyes had met awkwardly across the Great Hall during meals, looking away right away like you were eleven again and still figuring out why you couldn’t stop looking for him in every room. He didn’t look away from you however, not like you’d ever find out, eyes glued to your food that wasn’t appetizing at all. Hogsmade trips had stayed in place, and that had been when you had ran into Oliver, way too drunk to have had just butterbeer, laughing and walking with some difficulty with his equally inhebriated friends. They were singing happy birthday way too loudly, Oliver not really joining but marching slightly behind, an amused smile on his face that had disappeared the moment he saw you. You weren’t sure of what you had expected, but it definitely wasn’t him simply walking throught the inches of snow towards you and away from his friends.

“You are not off age yet” you said as he stood next to you “You turned seventeen barely three months ago”

“And you didn’t wish me a happy birthday” he replied in a childishly manner.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t want to talk to me?”

“I don’t” he said way to quickly. It was very obvious how drunk he was, the thickness of the alcohol stretching and making the words stick to one another. There was also a sulkiness to his demeanor, softening his usual stubbornness “You spend all your words talking to Diggory anyway”

“Why do you dislike him so much?” you sighed “Why do you have to bring him up every time you talk to me?”

“Because he’s a prick” he muttered matter of factly, a slight pout on his lips as he swerved in place “Is he in love with you?”

“What?”

“Is he?”

“He’s just my friend! You used to be too!” you straightened in place, measuring your words “Or I thought you were”

Oliver blinked at you, slowly, waiting or all these words to register properly. The concious part of him focused on the pinkish hue your lips turned when you were cold.

“What youmean?”

You kicked a bit of snow, wondering if you should even bring it up.

“Was I ever your friend?”

He frowned, as if he was trying hard to concentrate.

“I don’t understand”

“Do you remember why we became friends?”

Oliver took his time, thinking really hard about what you were asking. After a while he could only come up to one conclusion, announcing it with a shrug.

“Dunno. You’ve always been 'round me”

You scoffed and looked away, your stomach feeling strangely hollow.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, I guess”

“What’re youon about?

“Why’d you never ask me to get lost if I bothered you so much?”

“Wh--”

“You talked to me because of who my father is, and if I had told you I don’t play Quidditch you wouldn’t have talked to me again at all”

“I guess?” Oliver shook his head “But you did, so what does that matter? You were my firend and you took care of me when I got hurt and I thought you were cool--”

“Wait, what do you mean took care of you?”

Oliver paused, looking at you like you were the drunk one.

“When I got hit in the head. Whole week”

It had been the first time since your fist year that he had ever mentioned having any knowledge about that incident.

“How’d you know about that?”

“Madame Pomfrey said, when I woke up”

“Why did you never say anything?”

Oliver shrugged as he swerved from side to side, the pink in his cheeks more noticeable now.

“...shy” he finally said “Why didn’t you say anything about it”

Your feet dragged through the snow as you stepped back.

“Forget about it”

You had meant to turn and walk away immediately, a thousand thoughts going through your mind. So he had known, confirmation of what you had suspected all these years hitting you like a Weasley driven bludger. So he had known all along, deciding not to tell you out of something. Pity? Embarrassment?

“Oi!” Oliver walked in front of you “Is he in love with you, yes or no?”

“He-!” you bit your lip and looked away. There had been something you hadn't even dared to mention to your friends. Something you had promised to not tell alyone. But you didn't want to lie to Oliver, not even when things were like this “He did confess to me, back in the summer” you looked up to him for a second before adding "He kissed me"

Oliver’s face softened and his voice shook when he spoke again, low and crestfallen.

“Took your first kiss, he did?” he asked, but it sounded like he was trying to explain it to his own drunk self.

"I turned him down, I don’t see him in that way”

Oliver tilted his head to the side.

“You don’t like pretty boys?”

You finally took a proper look at him, not having to look away and not having to pretend you didn’t want to. His hair was shorter now but still messy, strands of hair framing his flushed cheeks that matched his pinkish nose. His lips were a bit swollen from drinking and they parted slightly whenever he spoke.

“I do”

You saw the way the words seemed to ripple through him, brows furrowing ever so slightly and for a moment it seemed like he had sobered up. The space between you felt so fragile that you both stayed still, as if a simple shaky breath could break the spell. There was a something in the way you had looked at him in that moment, it had been the closest to how you had used to look at him for so long, and it made his fingertips ache with longing and the aching need to touch you. You had tried so hard not to look at him like that anymore, to not give it away so easily. And yet you were the same lovesick idiot you used to be.

“Right” you said, more to yourself than him to “See you later”

Before he could stop you again, before you fell onto the trap that were his pleading brown eyes you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, not even when you heard his voice behind you.

“What’s that smell in your letters?”

You had been asleep for who knows how long when the hand shook you awake.

“Class is over” your friend said to you, the faint rustling of your classmates picking up their belongings bringing you back to reality.

You stretched softly, a sharp pain on your neck from the way you had been leaning against the wall for the last hour. Ms. Sinistra was giving you a nasty look that you pretended not to see, picking up your things and walking out with your classmates, hoping she would lose you among the small crowd and forget to scold you.

Your group's steps were followed by soft murmurs, an usually futil attempt to not wake up any of the paintings that adorned the walls on your way back to your Common Rooms. It was commonplace to study Astronomy late at night, when the sky was proper dark and stars shone brighter in contrast to the inky sky, but doing so at one in the morning was torture. The Gryffindor students that shared the class with you stopped in front of the portrait of The Fat Lady, quiet goodbyes being exchanged as Hufflepuff continued on their descent through the castle. As you approached the next flight of stairs, having fallen behind, you noticed how your classmates made way for someone coming up in the opposite direction: Oliver.

A few students turned arond and eyed him curiously as he stopped halfway through, stopping as he had the moment he had seen you. You hadn't spoken in maybe just three days, but it seemed that an eternity had passed and ran its course through him. Deep, dark circles adorned his brown eyes, his usually unkempt uniform adding to his restless image before you. Once your classmates had turned the corner it was just the two of you, the orange hue of the lit candles and a silence that stretched thin between you. That was until you took one step down, stopping in front of him.

“Where are you going this late?” you asked in a whisper.

“Detention” his voice was hoarse and it cracked a bit “Astronomy?”

“Yeah... what did you do to get detention for?”

“I was at the pitch after crufew. Didn't realize how late it was”

“That’s weird, but I wouldn’t put it pass you to write Quidditch plans even in the dark”

“I wasn’t writting just... thinking”

“Quidditch” you said matter of factly, almost teasing.

Oliver simply stared, letting his gaze linger for a heartbeat too long. His eyes dragged from your eyes, down to your lips, the way the orange light of the candelit hallway reflected on your features, then back to your lips.

“Among other things”

“You look like a mess” maybe you had spoken out of fear that he might have heard your loud heartbeat in the empty silence. He chuckled, looking down and passing a hand through his hair, messing it up even more “Don’t do that...”

You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through the stubborn strands before you had time to think about what you were doing. The moment your fingertips had ran through the base of his scalp he stilled, a shiver running down his back. Then ever so slightly he leaned forward, allowing you better acces to his hair, face falling dangerously close to yours.

“Better?” he asked, the question almost a shaky breath.

You had been close to look down, his plush lips that always were a bit chapped too close not to--.

“Ms. Quingly!” you heard Ms. Sinistra whisper sharply from the end of the stairs.

You both straighten up immediately, faces almost bumping into one another. Your face felt hot, and despite the very little light in the hallway you could see Oliver's face must have felt the same, red as it was.

“I should go”

“Yeah”

You walked down a few steps, not wanting to look at the disapproving look Ms. Sinistra was throwing Oliver and you. You mentally shook your head, deciding to turn around.

“Oliver” you called for him, louder than you had wanted. A painting close by hushed you “It wasn’t fair, what I said to you. You were my friend”

Oliver's grip on the banister tightened.

“I can still be, if you’d like that” there was hope in the way he had said it, bare and soft.

You wanted to tell him, just as much as you had ever wanted to. Wanted him to know how hard that was for you.

"I.. I don't know..."

“Ms. Quingly!” Ms. Sinistra got sushed by a few other paintings, upsetting her even further “I’ll have you in detention!”

Ms. Sinistra's footsteps climbed up the stairs in your direction, then Oliver’s words cut through the air.

“I missed you”

A painting grumbled at him to shut up, but Oliver ignored it, eyes never leaving you. His words had been firm and determined, as if a last plea. His way of saying sorry to all the things that had gone wrong, too many to name. Ms. Sinistra's bony hand wrapped arround your forearm.

“Ms. Quingly, let’s go!”

She started dragging you down the stairs, forcing you to look away from Oliver who remained still waiting for an answer that he knew now might never come. There was no easy way to explain how difficult it'd be to remain by his side like nothing happened. How difficult it had been been to pretend you didn’t want to see him. How hard it had been to not look for him in every room you walked in. How hard it was to not run towards him when you finally found him. All the letters you wrote to him and never sent, buried at the bottom of your suitcase. How hard it was to have him so close and not be able to tell him--

“I’m in in love with you!”

Your words hung in the air, bouncing off the stone walls with such force you were sure even the Slytherins down in the dungeons must have heard you too. You felt Ms. Sinistra’s hold on your arm loosen in shock, startled by your sudden outburst, giving you the chance to look back at Oliver. He was there, still and silent as the paintings that had become too, a faint giggle coming from one of them the only thing breaking the sudden silence

“Well, that’s enough!” Ms. Sinistra protested, evidentlly flustered as she successfully made you go down the steps "That'll be fifty points from Hufflepuff"

Oliver didn't sleep at all that night, having spend all of it lying face up in his bed trying to replay your voice as accurately as possible over and over again. As soon as students were allowed to get up he ran out of the Common Room and down the stairs, ignoring the portraits taunting him with “good mornign Mr. Wood” among giggles and whispers. He ran to the Great Hall and to the Hufflepuff table where he spotted Diggory and a few of your friends, asking out of breath where he could find you. Your female friends seemed aprehensive and just shrugged, a few of them turning around without as much of a shake of their heads. It had been Cedric who after inspecting Oliver briefly and hesitating for a moment told him that you might be running at the pitch, like every Saturday.

“Thank you” Oliver said to Cedric who gave him a nod, and it feelt like a years long fight had been settled just like that.

He ran towards the exit as you completed your tenth lap acorss the pitch, hoping the accelerated pulsing at your temple and aching on your legs would make you forget about the previous night. You shook your head and screamed at the memory of Oliver’s face staring at you in the dead silence of the night, unreadable. The faint sound of footsteps made you look up, unaware as you had been of Oliver approaching you until he had grabbed your face, lips crashing against yours without a second for any of you to think twice about it. His nose bumped into yours, faces flushed together to the point it made your lips hurt, your hands grabbing onto his wrists with a loud sigh. He parted from you, forehead resting over yours and panting breath fanning over your face with each word.

“Did you mean it?”

Your fingers curled around his hands that still held your face. You licked your lips, chest raising up and down, the way you could still taste him making you dizzy. All you could do is nod, nose brushing his as you did. Oliver pressed his lips against yours again, shorter, and let go with a loud sound.

“Say it again?”

It was hard to see his face when he was this close, vision blurring a bit until his pleading eyes came into focus. You bit your lip, suddenly shy and you were convinced he could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks beneath his fingertips where he was still holding you in place. You looked down with a nervous scoff and he followed your gaze, his head lowering so he could still look at you.

“Please” he said “Just once more?”

“And you?”

You lifted your head ever so slightly, your breaths catching onto each others, the proximity making the grip on your face shake and he brought one of his hands to your waist.

“I’m not good with words”

“I know” you nudged at his nose playfull, the grip on your waist tightened “Try?”

“I can’t go on like this” he confessed, voice a bit more casual “Don’t want to. It’s bloody awful. It’s drivng me mad” His words got a giggle from you, getting on your tip toes to kiss him again when he leaned back just enough to say something else “And for the record, I’ve always wanted to take you to that awful tea place”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

Your hands met at the back of his neck, lips pressed against each other in a softer but deeper kiss. It drew a long, heavy sigh of relief from Oliver, who simply held you tight against him, nails digging at your side. You couldn’t help but to leave short, wet kisses over his already swollen lips, hand scratching his scalp and your hands tangling between his hair. Oliver shuddered and a moan died on your lips, arms behind your lower back and neck trying to hold you impossibly close. Your faces were fully flushed against each other and they started to ache.

”You love me” you said, ragged breath against the side of his face.

Oliver nodded, drawing his nose around your cheek as he left small kisses.

“Yes”

“More than Quidditch?” you teased and he chuckled against your skin.

“Oi!”

“No?”

You pretended to push him away and he pulled you into him again, face crashing against his chest in a sea of laughter.

everyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team feared the day that Quidditch practice officially started for all houses, because they knew how crazy Oliver got.

the two weeks leading up to that fateful Saturday, Oliver been picking and chatting it up with all of his teammates. he’ll ask them how their summer went then immediately go into his plan on how they can win their first game against Slytherin.

his first target was obviously his star seeker; Harry Potter. coincidentally, his star beater — Y/N L/N — was also with Harry.

two birds with one stone!

“ah, the people i miss the most during the summer!”

you snapped your head to the voice, recognizing that it belonged to nobody other than Oliver Wood, your Quidditch captain.

Harry physically shrieked at the sight of Oliver, causing Hermonie to roll her eyes and Ron to snicker. ever since Harry joined Quidditch his first year, he’s been working nonstop because of Oliver’s strict schedule.

you — on the other hand — somehow enjoyed the early practices and the strictness Oliver had on you and your teammates. the early practices allowed you to chat with your friends, and you also got to see Oliver, your crush.

ever since you joined Quidditch, you always fancied Oliver. you honestly think it was because of his scottish accent that drew you in, and the way he was so passionated about the sport, something about it made you weak in the knees.

“uhm, it was okay? how was yours?” Harry answered frightfully. it was silly knowing that one of Harry’s fear was Oliver Wood during Quidditch season.

but lord does that man get scary.

before you could even respond with your own experience, Oliver moved aside some plates — earning a ‘hey!’ from Seamus and a side eye from Dean — placing a piece of parchment onto the table.

“since our first game is against Slytherin, i’ve devised more and better strategies for us to defeat them. we need to work harder and stronger —“

you couldn’t even register his words, cause the way his scottish accent just scratched your brain in the right way. Hermonie had to nudge you in the ribs to get you out of your lovesick phase.

your eyes gaze around the clearly messy parchment, seeing Oliver’s messy handwriting all over it. you weren’t surprised to learn that all Oliver did over the summer was focus on Quidditch.

meanwhile, you spent time with your friends and went to visit different countries like France, Italy, Germany, Japan, Norway —

“— Y/N! this is where you come in,”

you were quickly taken out of your thoughts when you heard Oliver say your name. your eyes once again gaze over the parchment and realize Oliver was holding a miniature picture of you.

it was one from your first year of Quidditch during your 2nd year, you still had baby fat in your cheeks and your hair was much more shorter.

you cringed slightly at the thought of your 2nd year self — then paused.

“why do you have a miniature photo of me from my 2nd year?” you asked, curiously. Harry looked to see the photo, then quickly realized there were other miniature photos.

the only difference — was the other ones were hand drawn. only yours was an actual photo, the one of Harry’s was poorly drawn and Oliver didn’t even had his scar, the one of Fred and George didn’t even look like twins, and poor Angelina, Oliver didn’t even bother adding the correct colors for her Quidditch uniform.

“oi! how come hers is the only one as an actual photo!?”

you failed to realize that during your thoughts, Fred and George had came up behind you and Harry, also being integrated by Oliver as well. Angelina also joined, frowning at her poorly drawn self.

Oliver rolled his eyes impatiently, “that’s none of your concern. back to my plans —“ he went on a whole rant how the 3 beaters — you, Fred, and George — needed to pick up your weight and basically body slam the Slytherin’s beaters.

yeah, this was going to be a long year.

────୨ৎ────

Oliver was actually insane. ever since Quidditch season started, Oliver has not let the Gryffindor Quidditch team rest for a single moment.

the September breeze fluttered by your robes, causing you to shiver lightly as you held onto your Sky Scythe, the newest addition to your broom collection. you were wearing your usual practice attire — a simple white long sleeve covered by your Gryffindor jumper, and some black jeans.

the rest of your teammates — Harry looked more tired than usual, Fred and George practically fell off their brooms, and Angelina looked like she wanted more of her beauty sleep.

Oliver looked lively per usual, hand perched on his hip as the other held onto his Nimbus 2000, smirking. “good morning team!” it was 4 in the morning, “how are we doing on this lovely morning?” the sun wasn’t even up.

Harry groaned, fixing his glasses that slightly tilted. “when are we going to ever going to practice at a reasonable time?” Fred snickered, George glared at Oliver, Angelina sighed, and you just yawned.

Oliver just laughed, shaking his head. “never, Potter! now come on, Slytherin supposedly going to take the pitch by 9 in the morning. we got 5 hours, up in the sky we go!”

you sighed as the rest of the time flew by. you almost got dropped by Fred since he accidentally bumped into you when he was yawning, Harry almost ate the golden snitch, Angelina almost ran into the goal post, and Oliver was fuming.

everything wasn’t going according to plan. he envisioned everything perfectly in his head and the fact it wasn’t coming out as he envisioned has him tweaking.

when it was finally for break time, he was about to snap.

“come on, Wood,” you groaned, leaning against your Sky Scythe, your hair messy from the air and your forehead had bits of sweat coming down from it. “can we please end early today? it’s the first day of practice — and plus we got practice tomorrow.” you whined.

it felt like the Gods above had blessed you, cause as soon as you said that — “fine. everybody been whining, practice is dismissed.” he sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, shaking his head disappointedly.

Angelina fisted the air, Harry sighed in happiness, and Fred and George thanked every God they knew. you sighed in relief, smiling.

you and your teammates immediately ran back to Gryffindor tower, with Oliver following after y’all. he had to admit — he was also feeling a bit tired, and they been at it for around 3 hours. he didn’t want his team risking detention because they fell asleep in class.

as soon as all of y’all had entered, Fred and George slumped onto the couches, Harry immediately ran up to his dorm, and Angelina just full blown fell onto the carpeted ground. you laid down next to Angelina, stretching as you rested your head racing the fire, the warmness immediately taking you to sleep.

Oliver walked in a bit after, taking in the sight of most of his teammates currently out of it.

Fred was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped over the top, and the other laid on the seat, he had his arms behind his head to support it.

George cradled up on the second, stealing a blanket, covering his lanky body over it. his ginger curls draped over his face like a cape, giving him some sort of privacy.

Angelina was on the carpeted floor in front of the couches. she had taken a blanket from Fred and draped it over her body, using your legs as head support.

you were laid on your stomach, laying your head on her crossed arms, face facing the fireplace to generate warmth onto your face and body.

Oliver sighed, slumping onto the unoccupied couch, his fingers running through his brunette hair. crap. now he’s feeling tired.

before he could even slip into dreamland, he heard footsteps come down from the stairway. he looks up to see a familiar face — Percy Weasley.

“what in Merlin’s name are you doing awake so early?” Percy grumbled. clearly, he wasn’t a morning person, despite being Prefect and Head boy. Oliver snickered, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Quidditch season started, gotta make sure these lots are ready for Slytherin.” Percy takes a glance at the bodies, seeing his two younger twin brothers snoring rather loudly than he would like.

Percy sighed, “you and Quidditch ..” he murmured. Oliver rose an eyebrow. “hey! i heard that,” he whispered, “you and your Prefect duties ..or whatever,” Percy gave him a look.

“you’re also a Prefect.”

“oh, right.”

────୨ৎ────

you were convinced that the Prefects were plotting something against you.

ever since the fist Qudditch game — Gryffindor won, by the way — the Prefects have been circling you like you were guilty of something. you were worried that you might’ve accidently opened the Chamber of Secrets or dissed them without realizing they were there.

so far, you had interacted with all of the Prefects.

first was Percy Weasley.

Percy Weasley was the older brother of Ron, Fred, and George. if rules were a person, Percy would be that. he somehow always had a straight posture, his glasses never slid down his nose, and his curly ginger hair was always kept fresh.

you had accidentally ran into him after breakfast.

“oh! i’m sorry!” you apologized quickly, realizing you bumped into somebody. looking up, you see the familiar red curly hair that all the Weasley siblings shared. you soon realized — this is Percy Weasley.

“ah, Miss L/N,” he said with a smile. you never really saw him with a smile, so it freaked you out a bit, but you smiled back. “your skill in Quidditch are remarkable, i must say,” he murmurs, causing you to grown flustered. you weren’t used to getting compliments.

“he certainly enjoyed working with you today, Miss L/N.”

“ah! thank you Percy! that’s nice coming from you.” it lowkey sounded backhanded, but Percy didn’t seem to mind it. he gave you a tight smile, a squeeze on your shoulder, before going on his merry way. you failed to see the way he took a quick glance at you as you walked off.

then it was Penelope Clearwater.

Penelope was the Prefect of Ravenclaw. she had long straight blonde hair, pale skin, and a beautiful smile that you sort of envy. there were rumors of her and Percy dating but they both denied it profusely.

you had ran into her in class.

it was Potions class. you didn’t know why Penelope was in there — maybe to look over the lesson? she was a Prefect after all, but what do Prefects even do? — and she was standing in the back of the class, an open book in hand. you had unfortunately forgotten your book for that class that day, so Snape ordered you to go grab one from the back.

as you did, Penelope looked up at you. wanting to be polite, you gave her a small smile and went next to her to grab the book needed for that class.

“you’re Y/N, right? one of the beaters on the Gryffindor team?”

your eyes meet hers as she spoke. you were kind of shocked she knew you — you weren’t quite known alongside the other houses, so the fact she knew you had you quite spooked.

“yeah, that’s me. you’re Penelope Clearwater, right? Ravenclaw Prefect?”

she smiled warmly, nodding. “i heard all about you, Oliver says you’re a great addition to the team.” before you could even respond, Snape’s ruler scared the crap out of you.

“chatting it up with a Prefect, are we?” Snape asked, causing you to shriek and quickly shake your head. he ushered you to go back to your seat and shot Penelope a glare as he walked back to the front of the class.

then it was Cedric Diggory.

Cedric Diggory was the heartthrob of Hogwarts. he was the Hufflepuff Prefect. you lowkey had a crush on him back in your third year. you can’t even blame yourself, Cedric is an attractive guy.

you had ran into him during lunch.

you had just stepped into the dining hall, eyes gazing at the rows of students at each table. you had accidentally slept a bit over your clock during your afternoon nap, resulting you in coming in late.

when you finally catch eyesight of your friends, you happily smile and began walking — before you collided into somebody’s chest.

you were almost knocked out of your shoes when somebody grabbed your wrist. you open your eyes to see beautiful brown eyes — Cedric’s eyes.

“oh my Merlin — i’m sorry! i should’ve seen where i was going!”

you blabbered, resulting in Cedric laughing. his laughter calmed you down a bit since it gave you the sense that he wasn’t mad.

“oh, no worries! the name is Cedric Diggory, you must be the infamous Y/N L/N i’be heard about?”

you were confused for a hot second, before you heard your name being called by Hermonie. Cedric must’ve heard it too, since he straighten you up.

“i’ll see you later, Y/N.”

he smiled, laughing calmly as he walked passed you. you just stood there in shock. infamous Y/N L/N? who in the world has been talking about you?

then, it was Cho Chang.

Cho Chang was a very pretty girl. you adored her sleek black hair that never had frizz. you wondered what her hair are routine was. she had such a cute smile. she was also the Ravenclaw Prefect.

you ran into her in the bathroom.

it was one of those days. mother nature decided to grace you with her presence, and you woke up that morning with bloody sheets.

unfortunately for you, your cramps were absolutely hell the first couple of days. you were thankful you didn’t have Quidditch practices or matches in the next couple of days, because you can’t fathom getting on a broom right now.

currently, you were in one of the girls bathroom, using the loo as you felt all the blood pour out of you. it felt disgusting, but it was apart of being a girl.

when you exited out the stall, you look up to see Cho, who was fixing her lashes in the mirror. she saw you rather quickly, since her face seemed to brighten up.

“you’re Y/N L/N! oh my, you’re much more prettier in person! he was right!”

you grew confused as you clutched onto your stomach. the way she worded her sentence was like somebody been telling her about you.

“uh, yeah. that’s me. you must be Cho Chang, right? Harry told me a lot about you.”

at the mention of Harry, her cheeks slightly lit up, making her giggle lightly.

“ah, Harry James Potter! he’s a handsome one, for sure.”

you laugh at her words, Harry was handsome, but it was funny how she said his full name. Cho smiled at your giggles, now she realized it all.

after, it was Marcus Flint.

Marcus Flint was the Prefect of Slytherin. he and Oliver had an ongoing fuel on the Quidditch pitch, but off? they were best buds. he was sometimes snarky, he reminded you of Oliver in some way.

you ran into him after a Quidditch match.

it was another Gryffindor vs Slytherin match. Malfoy was seriously getting on your nerves the whole match, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind after the match — and obviously, Gryffindor won — that was until somebody stop you mid step.

“you’re just as stubborn as he mentioned,”

you heard somebody snark. you look up to see Marcus Flint, in his green Slytherin Quidditch robes. his hair looked a bit ruffled up, maybe because he took quite a beating from the goal post after he rammed into it earlier.

“who?”

you asked curiously. every interaction you had with these damn Prefects they always talk like somebody had been constantly talking about you.

before Marcus could even answer, you felt a hand on your shoulder. you glanced over your shoulder to see Oliver, who was giving Marcus a look that said ‘don’t say anything’ to which Marcus shrugged his shoulders.

Oliver quickly whisked you away, saying that the team was already celebrating in the common room and he wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun.

────୨ৎ────

“he likes you.”

Hermonie said like it was a fact. your eyes just widen.

you and Hermonie often had study dates on Thursday in the Library. these study states include studying for Potions, Charms, and DADA. then usually it went to gossip.

you decided to tell her about how weird the Prefects been acting. how you randomly ran into all of them — beside Oliver — and they spoke to you like somebody was clearly talking about you to them.

“come on, Y/N. you can’t be this clueless.”

you frowned. Hermonie sighed.

“the reason they all been acting weird is because Oliver Wood clearly likes you. they’re all Prefects, right?” you nodded, “he probably told them that he fancied you, and they wanted to see you face-to-face.” she explained.

then, as if a switch was tuned on, everything finally made sense.

“he certainly enjoyed working with you today, Miss L/N.”

“i heard all about you, Oliver says you’re a great addition to the team.”

“oh, no worries! the name is Cedric Diggory, you must be the infamous Y/N L/N i’be heard about?”

“you’re Y/N L/N! oh my, you’re much more prettier in person! he was right!”

“you’re just as stubborn as he mentioned,”

oh my God. you might be the most clueless person you ever met.

Hermonie snickered as she sees the realization finally dawned into you. meanwhile, you’re recalling every moment and very interaction with the Prefects.

oh my God. Oliver probably does like you.

before Hermonie even realized, you ran out of the Library, Madam Pince didn’t look too happy with you causing all that noise. you don’t even register where you were going, but one thing was one your mind.

find Oliver Wood.

and surely enough, you did. unfortunately, he was in the Prefect lounge. you knocked profusely on the door, trying to catch your breath.

as soon as Percy opened it, you zipped past in and entered the lounge. all of them were in there, and they were all currently staring at you.

but your eyes only darted to one person — Oliver Wood.

“you,” you pointed towards him, and he raised in hands up in defense. you took a step towards him, taking a deep breath, you didn’t want to look foolish, so you hoped what Hermonie said was right.

“..do you ..do you fancy me?”

everybody went quiet for a few seconds. you immediately started to regret running here in the first place and started taking a few steps back before Oliver stood up.

he was still in his Quidditch robes, a bit dirty from practice earlier that morning. his hair hadn’t been combed from the morning, and his lip looked chapped as if he was continuously biting them.

“i..” he started, darting his eyes everywhere but you. you didn’t even care the fact that the other Prefects were there, you just wanted to know if what Hermone theorized was true.

and gosh, you hoped she was right.

Oliver needed to speak faster, cause a few seconds has passed and he hasn’t said anything else yet. you were about to give up before he began talking again.

“i do fancy you, Y/N. i been since you joined the team — ah, crap, i don’t know how to express these feelings though.”

once again, you didn’t care about the other Prefects being in the room as in two steps, you grabbed Oliver’s face and smashed your lips into his.

realization slowly sunk in as you heard the other Prefects cheering and as you pulled away, your cheeks were burning and Oliver was chuckling.

“didn’t know Captain had a favorite!”

Cedric teased, throwing an airball causing Oliver to glare at him. the realization hit you like a truck.

“oh my ggggoooossshhhh, this is why i was the only one with an actual photograph! and all the Prefects talking about me like somebody was talking about me to them! i’m so slow.” you whined, causing Oliver to laugh more as his arms snake their way around your shoulders.

────୨ৎ────

“WHAT!?”

the team’s all yelled in unison, clearly shocked at the news they’ve just been told by their Captain. Oliver nodded, arms crossed.

“yeah, me and Y/N are dating.”

Fred’s eyes widen, George’s jaw dropped, Harry’s glasses almost fell off his face, and Angelina looked like she was told her whole family had been kidnapped.

“oh my, is this why you were acting so weird around her during matches and why you got mad at that Ravenclaw bloke for almost hitting her with a bludger?”

Oliver’s cheeks turned red and you laughed playfully.

captain’s favorite, huh?

You weren’t daft, though. You knew the twins were vastly different in personality as well. Fred was a human firecracker; loud, charming, and the face of their pranks. George, on the other hand, was quieter in his chaos. Unlike Fred, George was much more aware of the people around him. He knew who to prank, who not to prank; not based on authority, but based on the effect each prank would have on different people. You remembered a time George held off a prank the three of had planned merely because the shyest Gryffindor in the year below you stepped in, and George knew she’d cry. He made you go up to pull her with you guys, effectively involving her in your prank. It made her laugh, made her smile. Since then, you supposedly started looking at George a bit differently.

He knew when to crack a joke, when to simply smile and offer his ear. Fred didn’t understand it quite as much. He tried, truly did, but his impulse always got the better of him. Fred was the explosion, George was the gunpowder trail. He planned everything from drawing the architectural plans of the school to writing down chemical formulas with Fred in their free time. Fred was the step forward, the one who nicked every ingredient they needed, the one who made sure each explosion went off just when there was an audience. A true showman, but George was more of a ringleader.

Ever since you figured that out, you’d been more defensive when anyone asked whether you had a favourite twin. Because you weren’t supposed to. It was wrong; they were your best friends.

But you were scared it was already growing obvious as you sat on the couch near the hearth of the common room, legs thrown across George’s lap as you played with his weirdly long fingers, wiggling them and whatnot as he talked shop with Fred. They were going to open their joke shop, and with Umbridge trying to stick herself up their asses every chance she got, they reckoned it should be sooner rather than later.

“Why can’t I join you both?” You asked for the nth time, making Fred throw a cushion at you that George easily swatted away before it hit you. “Because,” he began, glancing over at Fred. “You know your parents would completely flip out. Plus, we need you in here to spread the word of our shop, love.” He said, voice slightly amused as he poked your side.

You ignored the effect the nickname had on your heart, looking over at Fred who simply nodded in agreement. “Who else will smuggle in shipments for our in-house orders?” He added, a smirk pulling at his lips which made you groan. “Whatever.” You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest.

Fred simply laughed at you, George grinned and unfolded your arms, tilting his head at you. “You can come join us when you graduate, lovely.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, squirming your legs off of his lap purely to make a point. “You’re just scared all the customers will love me more and I’ll have to take over the business!” You said indignantly, making George stifle a snicker while Fred lifted a brow. 

“Right, cause that’s what truly keeps me up at night. Fear of losing my joke empire to someone who gets dizzy when they see the formulas and diagrams for our prototypes.” He mused, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

George chuckled, nudging your side. “C’mon, love. How about you come with us to Hogsmeade and help us pick up stuff for a new prototype we’re trying soon?” He offered, making you perk up, a smile spreading across your face.

“Yeah! Alright!” You chirped, dropping your legs lazily over his lap again, making him let out an exaggerated gasp followed by a groan, making you swat his shoulder.

It earned you a grin, and Merlin if that didn’t turn your insides to mush.

George nudged you through crowded Hogsmeade as you made your way to Zonko’s. The twins treated it as a competitor, so you weren’t there to buy their products to use, but so they could take them apart and use the bits and pieces they actually wanted from the ‘poor excuses of chaos creators’.

You and George fought your way through the crowd and over to the register, paying for a few contraptions before exiting only to find out you’d lost Fred. 

“Georgie! Use that twin telepathy thing! Where is he?!” You huff, passing George the bag. He scoffed in turn, making a show of trying to reach into his mind and find him before gasping. “I found him!” He cried, making you look up at him in pure bewilderment, maybetwin telepathy was real?

“He’s up my ass.”

Oh.

After you bashed your fists into George’s shoulder, making him cower and cackle in one, you began to walk around in search for Fred. 

As you walked around Hogsmeade, you spotted a new bookstore/record store opened by a Muggleborn ex-student just a few day ago. You almost shrieked, grabbing George and dragging him in.

“Oh, for Godric’s sake—“ he groaned, but you paid him no mind as you entered the cool, air-conditioned store. Soft R&B played from the speakers; the music made you beam. George could just smile at you as you tugged him around the store. You stopped in front of a bunch of shelves with albums and records on them, grabbing one of Hootie & the Blowfish’s albums, Cracked Rear View, and showing it to George enthusiastically. You half expected him to be whiny and all annoying about having to come here, but when you turned to show him, you saw him flipping through copies of the Goo Goo Doll’s album A Boy Named Goo. 

He turned over to you, his smile widening as he took the album from your grasp, moving closer to you in the mellow bookstore. His eyes flicked between you and the album before pulling you by the wrist to the section where they sold Sony Walkmans, grabbing one with wired earphones. 

“How about we listen to it later, yeah? ‘Ve never heard of those lot.” He mumbled, grabbing both the Hootie record and the Goo Goo Dolls’. 

Your heart fluttered, looking up at him with sheer adoration as you watched him continue to sift through records and albums, even grabbing Madonna cause you’d mentioned how her music made you feel alive, tucking it under his arm. 

Maybe that’s when you admitted it to yourself. Maybe you did have a favourite twin. Maybe that particular twin made your heart stutter, your palms sweat and your heart race.

Maybe you were in love with that twin. That was a revelation you didn’t expect to make in a shop full of Muggle music and books. Your mouth went dry, and you turned away from George, heart hammering as you wandered off to the novel aisle.

In love with him. In love with him.

Maybe repeating to yourself over and over would make it more normal, easier. But it didn’t, it wasn’t.

He was George. You always knew he was different. He was the man who sat with you when things got heavy, as opposed to trying to cheer you up. Whenever you hit rock bottom, he’d sit there with you till you had the strength to climb back up. He never pushed, never shamed you. He was so aware of what to say to get you to listen, to calm down, to laugh. He always knew what to say.

You grabbed a book, any book, really, flipping through it to feign interest if George came looking. He did, of course, he did. 

“Love, you want t’get that? ‘Bout to go check these out.” He said softly, bending down to mumble in your ear. You felt your blood turn into lava inside you as you jerkily nodded, handing him the book you truly knew nothing about. He had three records tucked under his arm, Hootie, Goo Goo Dolls, and Madonna, along with the Walkman. You tried not to let the melting of your heart be massively obvious as you followed him to the register.

Once all was paid for and all was sorted, you found Fred outside The Three Broomsticks, showing him the goods you bought and attaining his stamp of approval before heading back to Hogwarts. Every once in a while, you and George would bump shoulders, elbows, fingers would brush. It wasn’t inordinary, quite the opposite. But you were aware of it now. The sensations making Fred’s rant sound like he was talking through a wall as you looked up to stare at his side profile.

But he was already staring down at you, not bothered in the slightest when you flustered. If anything, his smile simply softened. With a tilt of his head, he admired you as you walked, without a word. He let Fred ramble on, unaware.

Your fingers brushed again, your heart stuttered.

You swallowed hard, looking up at him nervously.

But he just smiled, eyes showing nothing but casual fondness. He saw your inner turmoil in the way you glanced around, drawing in sharp breaths whenever his fingers grazed yours. He knew why; it was because you’d figured it out. 

So as your gaze locked onto his once more, he simply interlocked his fingers with yours as you entered the palace and walked back to your dorms. He didn’t make a big deal of it, didn’t make it flashy or flirty. It was softer, intimate. Somehow, that only intensified the disaster exploding in your heart.

he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.

"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.

but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant in your life. the one unchanging thread that connected both your past and present.

"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truths you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor. you had known her for just about as long as you'd known peter, but the switch to dauntless demeanor always seemed easier for her.

"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”

you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to.

christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.

"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.

you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.

you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.

the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.

then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.

"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.

your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.

“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.

you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.

before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.

to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.

it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.

you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”

peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”

the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea. 

christina said that that was when you started staring. 

you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.

he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.

christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."

"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."

you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near. 

glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will. 

you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.

you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.

but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.

regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.

… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.

in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air. 

though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”

“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to. 

even you knew you were lying. 

without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.

as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.

you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty. 

your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.

as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”

you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”

“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.

you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.

at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him. 

and after all that time, he was right.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.

“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.

he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”

"you're being an idiot, you know," christina had said once, not unkindly, but blunt as always. you were sitting in the cafeteria with her and tris, the two of them chatting about training, gossip, the usual. you, of course, had been caught staring at peter again from across the room. you couldn't help it; even when you tried. your eyes always found him without effort.

tris nudged you lightly, her small smile sympathetic but cautious. "yeah, she's right. you should just... let it go. it's peter. he's not worth it."

and you knew that. logically, they were right. peter wasn't the kind of guy you should want. but you believed that logic never had anything to do with the heart. logic didn't stop your heart from racing every time he glanced your way, or your stomach from fluttering when his lips quirked into that sly grin of his.

regardless, you listened to them—tris and christina. you kept your distance and kept quiet. but while your mind understood that peter hayes was off-limits, it didn't stop your heart from dreaming about all the ways you could have had him.

choosing dauntless had come with its own set of challenges. other than peter hayes. your kindness, your softness, wasn't something people there valued. dauntless celebrated strength, ferocity, and bravery. and sure, you had learned how to fight, how to defend yourself, but your core remained the same. soft. caring.

people noticed, of course. it wasn't hard to ignore the way you'd check up on others after a particualrly rough sparring session, or the way you'd always seem to hold back any time you had to fight anyone competitively.

you rarely fought back during petty arguments, never raised your voice. you didn't fit in the way you were supposed to, but that didn't mean you weren't respected. people admired you quietly, in their own way. you knew it wasn't loud praise or direct acknowledgment, but you caught the way some of the others softened when they spoke to you, or how they didn't mind standing by your side during sessions. many must have thought you were too gentle for dauntless, but that gentleness had earned you a quiet kind of respect.

peter was one of those people. or at least, you thought he was. it was hard to tell with him. he never outright said anything to you—never mocked you like he did with others. but then again, he never talked to you in general. more than anything, he avoided you. it was subtle, the way he slipped out of rooms when you entered or how he always seemed to position himself at the far end of the group. he wasn't cruel to you the way he was to others, but he wasn't kind either.

however, it hurt the most when you overheard al saying that peter was always adamant about changing the subject whenever you were brought up.

you hadn't meant to eavesdrop. it wasn't something you normally did, but you were passing by the dormitory when you heard al's voice, low and serious, drifting from the open door. you paused, half-hidden behind the wall, just out of sight, when you caught your name.

"yeah, i don't get it," al was saying, sounding confused. "every time we talk about her, peter shuts it down. like, he doesn't want to hear it. gets all weird about it, like he doesn't care or something."

your stomach twisted, a sharp ache settling in your chest. you pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady your breath. he didn't care. you had suspected it before, of course, but hearing it confirmed like this—so casual, like it was just a known fact—hurt more than you wanted to admit.

you figured it was because he saw you as a non—threat. someone too soft, too insignificant to bother with. and maybe that was for the best. keeping your distance meant you could admire him from afar without getting hurt.

"he's staring at you again," christina muttered one day, her voice low as she leaned across the table, her eyes flicking over to where peter sat with a group of initiates. you were about to protest, thinking you misheard her and that she meant that you were staring again. but you hadn't been looking his way this time—not intentionally—but the moment she said it. you felt the familiar pull in your chest. a stupid, traitorous part of you wanted to glance back, to see if it was true. that he was looking at you.

but you didn't. you kept your eyes fixed on your plate, stabbing at the food in front of you like it was suddenly very interesting. "he's probably just plotting something," you said, trying to keep your tone light, dismissive.

"yeah, well, if he is, it must be takin' him quite some time," christina laughed. she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a curious glint in her eyes. "he's been doing that a lot lately."

tris, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. "you noticed that too?"

your heart skipped a beat.

"it's probably nothing," you mumbled, a little too quickly. "peter doesn't care about me. he barely even looks at me."

"uh-huh," christina smirked, clearly not buying it. "sure. keep telling yourself that."

you didn't reply. what could you even say? you knew for a fact that peter didn't like you. he couldn't. not with the way he acted, the way he seemed to avoid being near you. if anything, he was probably just irritated by your presence. you were an anomaly to him, someone who didn't fit neatly into the world he created for himself. an annoyance that he couldn't get rid of.

still, a small, foolish part of you couldn't help but wonder what if. what if peter wasn't avoiding you because he disliked you? what if it was something else entirely?

days passed, and you continued to keep your distance. it wasn't hard. peter made sure of that. he rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was curt, to the point. he never lingered, never allowed for more than necessary. but there was something strange in the way his eyes flicked toward you when he thought you weren't looking, how he stiffened slightly when your shoulders brushed by accident during training, how his eyes would dart between yours and your lips when you spoke.

you told yourself it didn't matter. even if there was something more behind his actions, it wasn't your place to find out. not when you knew how dangerous he could be, not just to others, but to yourself. because the truth was, if you let him in, he had the potential to destroy you in ways you couldn't even fathom.

and then, one night, everything changed.

you were in the training room late, the others having already left for the night. it was quiet, the dim lighting casting shadows across the floor. you liked the solitude, the peace that came from being alone in a place that was usually full of noise and chaos. it reminded you of your old home, of the calmness that amity had offered. dauntless was far from it.

you didn't expect anyone else to be there. least of all peter.

you had just finished practicing a round of punches against the bag when you heard the door creak open. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you turned. there he was, standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto yours the moment he stepped inside.

your heart thudded painfully in your chest. "peter," you breathed, the sound of his name foreign and shaky on your tongue. you hadn't been alone with him in... you couldn't even remember how long. and now, with no one else around, the tension in the air felt suffocating.

he didn't say anything at first, just stared at you, his expression unreadable, almost debating. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"why are you here?"

his tone wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't friendly either. you wiped the sweat from your brow, trying to keep your voice steady. "just... practising. why are you here?"

he shrugged, his gaze flicking away from you for a brief moment before settling back. "same."

there was an awkward silence that followed. you didn't know what to do, didn't know how to handle being alone with him. you had always been so careful, so diligent about avoiding moments like this. but now, with no one else around, you could feel every suppressed feeling bubbling up inside you.

and then, out of nowhere, peter's voice cut through the quiet.

"why do you look at me like that?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. "what?"

"don't play dumb," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "you think i don't notice? every time. you look at me like..." he trailed off, his jaw tightening, like he was angry at himself for even bringing it up.

your stomach dropped. you had tried so hard to be subtle, to hide it. but of course, peter had noticed. he noticed everything. "i don't—" you began to deny it, but the words felt hollow, false.

peter took a step closer, his voice low, as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. "i didn't want to love you, you know." his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, holding you in place.

"isn't that what this is about?" he asked, his tone sharper now, frustration creeping in. "if you don't like me, you don't have to be all amity about it."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet, his words crackling in the air like electricity. your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding as your mind raced to catch up. love? you could barely process anything beyond that.

"w-what?" you stammered, feeling foolish for not hearing anything else he'd said. the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly, your pulse quickening as his closeness made everything else fade away. nothing seemed real except for him—standing just inches from you, his words still echoing in your ears.

he ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, like he was fighting some internal battle he couldn't win. his jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just turn and leave. but instead, he continued, his voice rougher, more raw. "it's not like i wanted to like you," he said, his words stumbling out like he'd been holding them back for too long. "but then you smiled at me. and—holy shit, i blew it."

you blinked, trying to take in what he was saying, but before you could respond, he barreled on, clearly on edge. "and now you look at me like you hate me. i mean, why wouldn't you? everyone else does. i've been a total asshole, but at least they've got the guts to show it. but you—you're too... too nice to show it." his voice softened for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes surprising you. "so, now you're just pretending to be nice, pretending to not hate me by staying away from me. but i need you to know, i didn't want this. i didn't want to like you, but now—"

he broke off, frustration radiating off him, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "now i can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me crazy." he really didn't want you to hate him.

you stood there, your heart swelling at the sight of him—peter hayes, always so tough and unfeeling—so undone in front of you. he thought you hated him? the idea almost made you laugh, but instead, a warmth spread through you, something gentle and tender.

without thinking, you let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even you. his eyes snapped to yours, confusion flashing across his face. "what? what's so funny?"

"you," you said softly, stepping closer, your fingers hesitantly reaching up to cup his face, the warmth of his skin against your palms making your heart race. his breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his defensive walls—he was flustered.

his eyes widened, his tough demeanor faltering as he stood frozen under your touch. instinctively, he brought his hands to your hips, shy and uncertain.

you smiled, feeling more at ease now, more sure of yourself. "i love you too, hayes," you whispered, keeping him close, your thumbs brushing lightly across his cheeks and you couldn't help but admire the way his eyes smile before his lips.

for a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, his lips parting slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath.

"you do?" he asked, his voice almost vulnerable, the usual bite gone.

and just like that, the walls he'd built so high around himself crumbled.