T H R E A T E N E D

“You haven’t been knocked off your broom enough? I thought you hit your head so hard last year that you finally started to see keeper  wasn’t for you.” He’s teasing to the best of his ability, though it comes out as more of a small threat (like most of his words did). A chuckle tumbles out of his lips, even though he was hoping to knock Oliver clean over. “First of all –those brooms are years old now, not that you would notice good quality. Your broom was your great-grandfather’s right? Maybe that’s why you can never make it in front of the hoops in time?” 

“You should think about relying on it, might improve your game. In fact you guys are in need of a lot of things –like a swim!” In another second he is pushing Oliver again, much harder with the intention of having him fall into the lake. 

“Least I can still pass a class after the amount of hits I’ve taken. Makes one of us eh, Flint?” The humour behind this has dissolved into bitterness, and his eyes narrow to challenge the taller of the two. He lets out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. “Apparently you’ve been too blinded by shiny new toys to see, but we’ve been kickin’ your arse in the tourny’s for awhile now, Marcus...”

He doesn’t even have time to retort by the time the time Marcus’ hands are against him again, though his time he doesn’t manage to regain his footing and tumbles back into the water. He’s caught off guard, but manages to swim back up to the top as he spits up lake water. “You’re a damn child, Marcus, what the bloody hell is the matter with you!” He spits back, crawling back up the grassy ledge from the freezing water, shivering. “Bloody hell...”

ROMANCE pt. one                            

(since I keep bringing it up)

i. oliver is a virgin, the furthest he’s ever gotten is second base.

ii. that occassion was with a muggle girl over summer when he was fifteen. it did not end well. he was nervous and clumsy and she told him he was weird and a terrible kisser. his confidence around women romanticlaly and sexually has been shot since

iii. oliver is technically pan, though as far as he’s aware he’s straight from a simple understand that that’s ‘normal’ and a general lack of experience and knowledge

iv. oliver’s decently hung, 7.5′’ ;)

v. oliver prefers a little spoon position when cuddling

vi. oliver has an incredibly hard time talking to any attractive women he doesn’t play quidditch with, as they seem to be strange exceptions (though he still acknowledges they are attractive)

vii. oliver is in the midst of a sexual identity crisis after a drunken kiss with cedric diggory that sent him into a panic and forced him to lash out emotionally towards them.

“I don’t know, Quidditch skills seem kind of tame considering he made a guy disappear when he was what…a year old? I’m thinking he could have tons of hidden talents up his sleeve –guess that puts Diggory in the ‘least likely to win’ spot, as anticipated.” He shrugs. “The other schools have pretty good champions, they shouldn’t have a problem. The goblet only wanted us to have a fighting chance you see..” 

“Relax –even if someone did hear bet it would make them more curious and therefore more inclined to kiss you!” Roger’s arms lift up in exasperation, eyes rolling back in his head as he prepared the uplifting speech he kept trying to throw that Oliver could never manage to catch. “Well I’m not done talking about it! You know that it being your only kiss means that you think it makes you a bad kisser right? Which I’m totally saying it doesn’t, you just need more practice mate.”

“Honestly, the entire tournament is nonesense, and the more we talk about how low our chances are, the sicker to my stomach I get. We’ve got a fourteen year old kid with a Hufflepuff, we might as well throw in the towel.” He huffs dramatically, pouting like a child.

“Roger, why in the hell would I want someone to kiss me knowing damn well I’m a shit kisser?” He groans pathetically, slumping against the wall of the tower with an exasperated sigh. Still pouting as he glances up to Roger, he blows a raspberry. “That’s the problem, how will I practice if I can’t even muster up a conversation with a decent lookin’ bird? I’m right screwed...”

“I didn’t say anything about this being good but –okay.” He doesn’t even bother lookin up, continusing to lift himself on and off the ground. It’s only when he heard the bitterness in his voice that he practically jumps up stopping directly in front of the younger boy. Marcus is more of a looming figure at this point. “Offer it to me? I was about to come knock you off your broom, and this happens to be the one morning you leave the pitch early.” He takes a small step forward, lifting both his hands to push Oliver in the chest. 

“Fuck you Wood.” 

Alright, he tried the niceties. Honestly, Oliver still has unfinished business about Marcus’ team and their pathetic attempt at besting his team with their fancy brooms. “Oh c’mon, Flint, s’always a good morning on the pitch, innit’?

Raising a brow the the extreme level of testosterone this boy’s utilizing, he scoffs under his breath to his comment before the other pushes him and he stumbles back slightly, barely catching himself. At first he’s irritated, but that quickly subsides to humour as he manages a condesending smirk. “Oh, of course, Flint! My mistake! You must be excited to try and attempt to knock me off, since you finally got those fancy brooms you’ve always needed to even attempt to keep up.” He mocks slyly, picking up his broom from the ground before clicking his teeth before turning and taking a moment to speak back to Flint over his shoulder. 

“Thankfully we don’t have to rely on such things, seeing we lack the sponsor you have.”

Fleur nods, actually interested in his explanation. Language has been always something she was curious about, even when her mother repeatedly told her she didn’t really need more than her French to impress people, that they should make an effort to understand her and not otherwise. “I understand.”, she affirms. “Oh non, it isn’t dumb, I don’t think. Does that mean you are always up early? That is a lot of effort, but I agree it is the only way to achieve whatever you want.”, she smiles. “I am sorry Quidditch was cancelled, by the way. People around here seem to believe you were the most affected because of that.” 

She understands, of course she does. It must be hard to have a purpose, something you are really good at, and have them snatched away by a completely out of the blue tournament you can’t even participate in. She doesn’t know anything about Quidditch herself, but she’s certain this is the year when scouts visit the schools in search for talented players, and this event could be robbing Oliver of that possibility, if he wanted to pursue a professional career. “I agree. You shouldn’t let the tournament stop you. This is your passion after all, isn’t it?” Fleur tilts her head, her lips curving into a loopsided smirk. “Besides, everyone says you are just incredible when you are on a broom.” 

Oliver simply nods dumbly to Fleur’s question, trying to muster up coherent sentences to not reveal what a bumbling idiot he constantly is. She smiles and he feels his blood rush. It’s too early for this. Rubbing the back of his neck and trying to think of the least attractive thing possible to distract himself slightly, he shrugs. “Oh- uh, s’alright. I mean, it’s not, but, y’know. I’ll live. I’m a big boy ‘n all.” Boy? Really? Fuck. “Suppose it’s because I’m rumoured to be the most likely to make it professional after Hogwarts people are sayin’ that. Since I became captain my teams performed the best it had in years, and we’ve easily got the best team in the school. S’not a big deal or nothin’ though. Just love Quidditch is all...” Good job Oliver. You’re practically flirting! Look at you go.

Eagerly nodding again, then shaking his head, he continues. “Oh yeah, no, yeah, course. Yeah. Live and breathe it, honestly. To the point a lot of my team members and friends tease me ‘bout it but, y’know, you love what you love, right?” Love... Fuck, she’s smirking and Oliver swears he melts a little. Then the fellow blonde compliments him, and he face flushes blood red. “Ha, ha, maybe! I’unno! I just practice, a ton. I suppose I’m pretty good, yeah. Yeah, maybe. I’unno. I mean, I basically taught Harry Potter to fly and he’s become the best seeker even I’ve ever seen, so I suppose I am pretty good...” Bashfully, he shrugs, brushing loose hairs from his face. “How ‘bout you? You much of a flyer? Oh-  I’m not keepin’ you, am I?”

location: the black lake date: november 9th time: around 6am availability: open

Marcus Flint despised other people, he despised having to wrap his head around their conversations, despised the expectation for a genuine response, and loathed the notion of empathy. Countless reasons added up, he spent his early mornings working out by the lake that is before he went to steal the quidditch pitch from the insane Gryffindor captain or this year some new student who clearly didn’t understand the rules. As he’s preparing to start another set of push-ups he hears rustling and immediately falls into an eye roll. 

“I swear to Merlin –Wood if that’s you I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands.”

Wow, fuck him then. Uncalled for. Oliver’s taken aback by how Marcus snaps at him, but typical Marcus behavior he supposes. he’d be bitter too if he was too stupid to graduate. Raising his hands to gesture he means no harm, he sighs. “Well good mornin’ to you too, Flint.” He says apathetically, tucking his broom underneath his arm. 

Raising a brow to the opposing captain, he resumes. “Was just comin’ ‘round to offer you the field, since i imagine youre avoiding it on the fact you can’t play well or safe with others. S’all yours, I’m done for the mornin’.” He offers bitterly. “You’re welcome.”

“So…” Angelina whispers right behind him, peeking over Oliver’s shoulder— looking back and forth between the hallways and him. “What are you creepin’ on, boss?” She knows he’s bummed by the whole quidditch thing, the whole team is, but zoning out isn’t the most normal thing for him to do unless he’s trying to read lips of an opposite team to get their strategies. Which is useless right now. “Also please tell me you really didn’t fly laps around the pitch the whole night, it won’t be a super kind idea to your body in a couple of hours if you did, I’m just saying.”

The blond jumps a little bit, barely holding back a yelp as he swings around to register his teammate. “Christ! Tryin’ to kill me to take my position or somethin’? Sneakin’ up on me at the crack ‘o dawn...” He manages a soft chuckle, raising a brow slightly to her question before he face returns to it’s trademark stern expression. “Hey - not the whole night... just the whole morn. And frankly, i’d encourage you to do the same! Just because the game’s cancelled doesn’t mean this is any time to get lazy. There’ll be Quidditch next year and just because I’m gone doesn’t mean this teams gonna lose it’s rankin’.” The rant is righteous, bu well intended. Honestly the only thing getting him through the remainder of the year is the hope of prepping his team to continue honoring his legacy and his tenacity.

“Exactly,” Daphne nods, “and besides, it’s not even their school. You’d think they’d have some kind of common decency not to act like they own the place, and yet…” So rude of them, honestly. Their headmasters should’ve taught them some manners. Then again, Dumbledore should’ve given them a schedule of their own, or maybe an entire different room to eat in. She’s all for making new alliances and whatever the hell they’re supposed to do at events like this one, but sometimes it’s a bit too much. “What’s got you dozing off anyway, Wood? I thought the only place where you were supposed to be slow was in the quidditch field. At least that’s what Draco says.”

“I mean, it’s important to be the bigger person... And honestly, as much as I don’t particularly love the idea of being surrounded by strangers, it’s important to not be jagged and make an effort to be welcoming... As unpleasant as I can get.’ He shrugs passively, more so raised to be polite than enjoying the fact. Rubbing his eyes, he waves dismissively to her question. ‘’It’s nothin’, it’s nothin’... Just an early practice is all. And honestly, I ‘aven’t a damn clue who the hell that is? But I don’t need to defend my skill to anybody, my recond ‘n my teams speaks for itself. I’ve told it to Marcus, told it to Roger ‘n Cedric, tell it to you too.” He scoffs. “Why’re you talkin’ like you’ve never seen a match anyway?”

Lee rolls his eyes as soon as he realises who he’s about to run into. Of course Oliver is hiding behind the wall, trying to avoid confrontation with whoever is going to interrupt his alone time. He’s obviously not going to let him get away with it. He makes a point to make a lot of noise as he walks towards the other Gryffindor, the biggest smile on his face. There was something particularly amusing about bringing Oliver out of his sports obsessed shell. 

——— “It’s me. I come in peace. A little bit drunk perhaps but who isn’t after those tournament results am I right?” He finally stands in front of the other wizards and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Please tell me you’re not on your way to train right now.”

Oliver lets out an exhausted sigh as he realizes who’s looming around the corner. it’s not that Oliver dislikes Lee by any means, don’t be mistaken. Lee’s just -- a lot to deal with first thing in the morning. Especially when you’re as jagged and bitter as he is at the moment. Hair still damp from his practice (as he hasn’t had the chance to shower and clean up for breakfast just yet) and still relatively groggy, he forces a friendly(ish) smile to the other and gives a passive nod of acknowledgment. “Drunk at dawn? I’m sure there’s no reason to be alarmed by tha coping mechanism.” He retorts, hypocritically considering he’s been abusing his body through relentless practices and blatant denial to cope. His gaze shifts quickly from Lee to his hand, and then back. He isn’t one for physical contact first thing in the morning, but he’ll bite tongue. 

“No, actually - just finished. As I do every morning. Like clockwork. And no lack of quidditch is going to stop that.” There’s a heavy tinge of pain in his voice. He’s dying inside. But you know, whatever.

She had never really been face to face with Oliver, but she had heard enough things about the way he handled Quidditch, and that was exactly why she was surprised when the guy looked completely terrified at her presence. Fleur had no idea what he was talking about as well. According to her information, Quidditch had been cancelled at Hogwarts, so what practices did he mean? She tilts her head, putting her thoughts in order. Apparently she needs to treat this situation with caution if she doesn’t want the Gryffindor to run away horrified. That’s apparently what she gets when she’s trying to be friendly. “Early bird - Désolé, I am afraid I don’t understand what you are saying.”, she starts, her accent even thicker because of the hour and the exhaustion. 

The silence that follows is extremely long and awkward, and it has her blinking a couple of times until he speaks again. This is borderline painful, but at the same time, she’s the only person in this school who’s able to salvage a social situation like this. And who knows? Maybe she’ll gain a supporter.

“Merci! I am thrilled, yes, but I didn’t have much time to celebrate because I need to figure out what the first task is.”, she shrugs. “There will be time to enjoy the moment when I win.” At his question, she shakes her head. “Coming from practice, actually. Madame Maxime takes training very seriously. I was on my way to the Prefects’ bathroom. What about you? What practices are you talking about, I mean, nothing about the bathroom.”   

Fleur’s looking at him like he has two heads, which he doesn’t blame her for, and he’s staring back at her like she’s the sun itself. Maybe it’s because this is the first form of human contact he’s had today, maybe it’s because he’s a babbling seventeen year old virgin staring down what is easily one of the prettiest girls to set foot in this school. But he feels queasy. He’s also never heard a French accent on a girl before, and he’s sure that has something to add to it. Oliver doesn’t know what ‘daysoulay’ means, but he hears the word ‘lay’ and gets goosebumps. “Oh, no, it’s just like, a sayin’. Means, like, those of us who wake up early get a head start on the day and life, y’know?” He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s dumb, I’m dumb, don’t worry ‘bout it, anyway.”

He can’t not look at her, and he’s amazed she hasn’t bailed out of here. The blond nods along dumbly as she speaks, wide eyed and eager to both continue talking to her an bail the hell out of here. “Ha, yeah, I get that. I try to keep my team whipped into shape too. A strict and tedious routine keeps ya ready for anythin’, y’know? Even without Quidditch, still gotta keep in shape and keep ‘em on their toes for next year, ha...” He rambling, but he’s more preoccupied not trying to picture Fleur and baths together. “I was heartbroken when the news came out Quidditch was cancelled, but I’ve been doin’ this routine since I was fifteen, and don’t see how lettin’ a tourny stop me would help at all, y’know?”

“That’s actually the most interesting part about this, how did he do it? I can’t imagine he was able to find a seventh year willing to risk it, or wasn’t already putting their name in. You know what I take it back he might be okay if he can pull that kind of stuff in the actual tasks.” He’s not completely convinced, but it seemed stupid to continue bad-mouthing the boy who lived. Who knows what he can do spontaneously? 

“Hey –hey don’t put yourself down like that. I keep telling you that you can get any girl you want, you’re Quidditch captain! Even if we’re not playing that is still an extremely huge turn on. How do you not know that?” With the subject of dating his mind is almost wiped clean of his champion worries. There was another more pressing threat to an ego, one he knew he could definitely win. “Doesn’t even matter if you’re a slimy kisser –you can have someone! Use Quidditch for that, c’mon.”

“Honestly, how the fuck does he do anythin’? Do you know how much I would’a killed to be on the team at fourteen? Bonkers, mate. But you ‘n I both know nobody’s gonna look into it. Can’t imagine the other schools are thrilled ‘bout us ‘aving two champion neither!” 

Oliver just gives a dramatic sigh and turns away, having heard this sermon from Roger a million times over. Hands on his hips and lips pursed tight, he eyes Roger intensely, scoffing and smacking him in the arm and the kissing comment. “Hey! Shut your goddamn mouth, Davis, what if someone hears ya?!” The blond hisses under his breath. “I kissed one girl, she said it was bad. I was fourteen, it doesn’t make me a bad kisser and I’m done talkin’ ‘bout it! ‘Nough!”

location: hallways date/time: november 5th, 6:30pm availability: open to all

“It’s never too early to look good,” she shrugs feeling a pair of eyes on her while she holds onto her mirror with one hand and applies her favorite shade of lip tint. Red roses, raspberries and asphodel oil, made by her grandmother’s favorite and personal potioneer in Italy. “Hoping to grab a good seat for breakfast? With so many students in this school now, it seems impossible not to feel like it’s a bit overcrowded. They should’ve extended the schedules, if you ask me.”

Oliver was honestly staring into space (he wouldn’t voluntarily leer at a girl under the sole fear that conversation might engage) but he’s pulled from his imaginary world to reality by the sound of a voice. Raising a brow, he barely catches what the other says, not really having an educated sounding response to her until she speaks again. “Oh? Oh yeah, no -- Honestly it feels like we’re crammed in there sometimes, honestly half the time I find myself rushing through meals just to squeeze outta there... Not a massive fan of strangers in my space, I suppose...”