Archive of Our Own

Oliver Wood loved playing Quidditch than anything else in the world. He loved it more than sleeping. He loved it more than eating. He even loved it more than fucking, though he wouldn’t go as far as to say that during the interview. The Daily Prophet’s sports reporter had assured him that their readers wanted to get to know Puddlemere United’s most eligible bachelor, but surely they wouldn’t want to know that part. Not if they really were looking for that ‘eligible’ angle in their story.

So Oliver had dropped as many personal details as he could think to drop without really telling them anything about himself. He had said he lived alone, but he didn’t mention that was because he’d just been through a nasty, emotional breakup. He had said his perfect date was a picnic and a Quidditch game, but he hadn’t explained he meant that he liked his date to watch and admire him playing during the game. He had said he was most definitely looking for love, but he didn’t say he was queer.

His personal business was none of their business, as far as he was concerned. As far as the readers knew, he was single and available and quite a catch. It didn’t really matter that he was lying as long as he got them to come to the games and support the team. The owner needed butts in seats, and the butts of swooning women were just as good as any others.

Or, well, maybe not just as good for some things. Oliver set down the newspaper with a sigh. He took another swig of fire whiskey and decided it was officially time to move on. So he walked over to the pile in the corner of the living room he’d been eyeing for the past few weeks. He conjured a box and began to throw Percy Weasley’s belongings into it. When he was done, he waved his wand and the box sealed itself. Oliver had intended to mail it to Percy, but he didn’t actually know where Percy was living now. He’d checked with the Weasley family, but Percy was apparently not welcome at the Burrow. And his last two letters to Percy had come back with the same owl, unopened and undelivered. He had no reason to believe the same wouldn’t happen to a package. So he slid the box onto the top shelf of his hall cloak closet and shut the closet door. Out of sight, out of mind… out of heart?

The breakup had been difficult. Percy had been the love of his life for years, starting with when they’d been dormmates in Gryffindor Tower. Percy used to sneak into his bed in the middle of the night to snuggle and kiss and whatever else was quiet enough that they could do without waking up any of their other sleeping dormmates. Percy had been the only one who could cheer him up after a terrible Quidditch game loss. Percy had always been there to help him with his homework assignments or to listen attentively when he had an idea for a new Quidditch play or when he felt too tightly wound and just needed to blow off some steam. Percy had been his dependable, supportive rock.

And now Percy was a prat. No, not just a prat—a complete and utter prat. Percy had chosen the Ministry and the Minister for Magic over his own family and over Harry Potter as well. Oliver knew Fred, George, and Harry far too well to believe the things the Ministry said about them. But Percy… he couldn’t bother seeing reason or logic. He was blindly loyal in a way not even Hufflepuffs were, shooting off any bit of rhetoric he picked up from Cornelius Fudge without a second thought about what it really meant. And that was almost scarier than the idea of Voldemort’s return. Oliver couldn’t have that in his life, in his home, in his bed. And Percy couldn’t have a Harry Potter supporter in his.

The split had been mutual, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. There had been screaming and fighting and even a couple angry hexes thrown back and forth. In the end, Oliver had been left alone in what had once been their flat, lying on the floor in tears, waiting for a spell to wear off so he could use his limbs again and pick himself back up.

The only conclusion about the whole thing that he’d managed to reach while lying there was that maybe Quidditch was his true love. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be with someone else. That realization both hurt and made perfect sense. If he was truly honest with himself, it had really been more of a one-sided relationship anyway. He’d been the one to take, take, take and Percy the one to give and not get much back in return. Sure, Oliver had congratulated him on his achievements and high marks on tests. Sure, he could understand Percy’s obsessive nature and fixation on details, because Oliver had the same about Quidditch. But it had mostly been about Percy coming to his games, making him feel good when he lost, and making him feel amazing when he won.

Quidditch was his only passion now, and Oliver really didn’t see a problem with that. He was playing better than he’d ever played in his life, and as long as he kept pushing himself, there was no backslide in sight. Without a guy in his life to distract him with dates and personal drama, he could channel all of his time and energy into Quidditch and only Quidditch. Considering he’d just been bumped from reserve keeper to starting keeper, his hard work was definitely paying off.

So what did it matter if most of the Wizarding World was pressuring him to go on dates with some beautiful women? No one ever had to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. And what he wanted right now was to train, practice, play Quidditch, go home, sleep, and wake up ready to do it all over again. That was it.

Wasn’t it?

When he thought back to the morning that changed his life, he liked to imagine that he had had a strange feeling from the moment he woke up that something was going to happen to make the day special. But the truth was, he hadn’t suspected a thing. The day had started like any other. He woke up, got into workout clothes—a loose, gray tank top and black shorts—and ran five miles before breakfast. He pounded down a protein-enhanced fruit smoothie then headed for the pitch for a light practice. They had a game against the Ballycastle Bats tonight. Normally, Oliver would spend the Knight Bus ride to the pitch anticipating everything the opposing team might throw at them. But this particular team had Marcus Flint on it, and they had a history from Hogwarts. Already, Marcus knew the moves that Oliver most relied on, so Oliver always had to change things up when he was playing Marcus. And his post-game analysis always showed him that Marcus did the same. So he spent the ride going through probabilities and thinking of ways of faking out attackers. There were only so many ways you could score in Quidditch, and it was Oliver’s job to make sure every one of them was accounted for, no matter what the other team or an untrustworthy Slytherin chaser came up with.

The sky was a milky white-gray that morning, holding little indication of what it would be like come game time. It was a blank slate, waiting to be filled. They might have more of the same or they could have clear blue skies or terrible thunder storms. Oliver had to be prepared for anything, because being starting keeper was a responsibility he took seriously. If he played especially well to begin with, he could stay in the whole game. But if he let in too many quaffles early on, the coach would pull him out and replace him with their other keeper, who was always eager to play.

Practice went well. Oliver felt on fire, blocking shot after shot. His teammates complained, grumbled, and moaned every time he stopped one of them from scoring against him, but he knew they were glad for it in the end. He was their last line of defense in the real game and needed them to help him perform well.

He went out to lunch with his teammates after practice, ravenously devouring a steak salad, a pork chop, chips with vinegar, and a baked potato. He ended up ordering a turkey pot pie when he realized he wanted more, and he ended the meal with a nice pudding. He wasn’t sure if it was the rain falling in sheets outside or the strenuous practice, but he took his time loading up on protein and carbs and polishing off no fewer than four glasses of cider to chase any of the dampness or chill away.

“Can’t believe we’re playing the Bats again already. Feels like we just saw them, don’t it?” asked Ryon, one of their beaters.

“Aye-yup,” echoed Brice, nodding, his mouth still full of a second helping of apple cobbler.

Catalina refilled her goblet and leaned back in her seat, looking across the table at Oliver. “Oy, Wood. You know one of their chasers from Hogwarts, right? That Flint guy? Or am I thinking of a different team?”

“No, you’re spot on,” Oliver said, dropping his fork to his plate, finally feeling satisfied. “What a piece of work that guy is. Always had it out for me and my team. Sure, there was the usual rivalry between our houses, but Flint took it way too far. He made it personal, I think, always scowling and jeering at me in the hallways. We played against each other in the amateur leagues as well, and he was just as much of a pain in the arse there, always shouting out insults to try to throw me off my game. I really thought when I made it pro I was finally rid of him, but then the Bats brought him up from the lower leagues. I think they did it just to fuck with me, honestly.”

“Now who’s making it personal?”

Oliver shrugged. And then he shrieked.

It was a wholly undignified sound he was ashamed of the second after he made it, but there was no taking it back. And, speaking of backs, he whirled around to see the source of the pain in his. An elegant purple and green goose stood behind him, its yellow eyes flashing at him. With its unusual coloring, there was no mistaking it for a normal goose or even a normal goose that had wound up on the bad end of a spray paint prank. The colors indicating magical folk, the sudden appearance out of nowhere… this was a soulmate goose. It looked at him a moment, as if making sure it had the right person. Then it drove its beak into his thigh.

“Ah!” Oliver cried out, only slightly better than the surprised, girlish shriek moments before. Any teasing he was about to get for making the sound died down immediately when people spotted the goose.

“Merlin’s beard…” whispered Tyrone, his chair scraping back as he got to his feet to be able to see over the table. “What’re you doing with a Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, Wood?”

The goose jabbed at his thigh again, and this time Oliver expected the pain and only gasped. He rubbed at his leg afterward, wincing and scooted his chair to the side a little. He was right up against Nelly now, and she protested her discomfort, but it couldn’t be helped. “Trying not to be too sore to play tonight, that’s what.”

“Yeah,” Tyrone said, walking around the table, keeping his gaze fixed on the magical bird the entire time as if he’d never seen one before. Oliver remembered that Ty was muggle-born and probably hadn’t ever seen a soulmate goose in person before or, if he had, only a few times. They didn’t come to just any pair of lovers. They only showed up when a soulbonded, predestined pair needed some extra help in getting together, when they needed a special push. “But why’d it come to you? And why now?”

“Obviously it’s confused,” Wood said. He waved his hand at it. “Shoo! I don’t need you here. I’m not even dating anybody right now!” He waved his hand at the goose, and the goose lunged forward and snapped, narrowly missing his hand. Oliver pulled his arms close to his chest. He couldn’t risk getting hurt mere hours before game time. It wasn’t as though he’d worn his protective gear to lunch, after all. He hadn’t planned on needing it until the game.

Oliver saw a silvery something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head just in time to see their team captain, on the opposite end of the table, send a patronus. His heart sank. The coach and management would know about his goose by the time he got back to the pitch. There was no telling what they were going to do with that information. His only option was to get rid of the goose now so it wouldn’t interfere with his game play.

He got out of his chair and knelt down so he was eye-level with the goose. “Hey, buddy. I appreciate you wanting to help me out or whatever you’re doing here. But this is really poor timing. You’re welcome to leave or, if you have to, just go for the night and come back tomorrow.”

The goose tilted its head to one side in contemplation. Then it hissed at him and took a few steps forward, closer to him instead of backing away. It wiggled its purple and green tail feathers in what Oliver thought seemed like an obvious display of its stubbornness. It was planning to stay with him until it completed its task, until it found Oliver his soulmate.

Oliver had a feeling that was going to take quite some time. It definitely didn’t seem to be in any rush to lead him somewhere, and he didn’t really want it to.

So it stayed close to him as he finished his meal with the team. And then it tagged along behind him on the walk from the pub back to the pitch. It strode right into the Puddlemere United locker room as if it had been there before and knew the place well. It circled him as he did his pre-game equipment inspection, making sure that every item of his gear was in good enough condition to use and making sure he had suitable backups if one of his pads or hand guards or laces or anything at all failed. It wandered the locker room, honking at his teammates who were doing the same sort of checks.

He tried to get his head in the game, tried to go back to his strategy of thinking up all the things that the bats might do, tried to get into the conniving mind of Marcus Flint. But it was hard to keep his thoughts from straying to the goose, especially as it routinely came at him in attack mode, making him crouch down with his arms over his face and as much of him as he could fit under the benches for cover.

Oliver was emerging from this position after a fairly angry goose attack when he heard his name called. Ah. Management had finally decided to voice their concerns. Oliver got to his feet and walked over to the team’s manager and coach.

“I see you’ve got yourself a goose,” said the coach, a frown on his face and his hands on his hips, arms akimbo.

“It's not going to be a problem,” Oliver insisted as his goose stalked around the Puddlemere United locker room. At first, he was worried that maybe the goose was going to try to lead him to one of his teammates; that would be awkward. But then he worried that the goose wasn't going to lead him to one of his teammates. The idea of having his soulmate also be on the team wasn't such a bad idea, the more he thought about it. Quidditch was his passion, and it made sense that it would also be the passion of his soulmate. He imagined early morning practice sessions together and celebrating team wins with epic love-making sessions that lasted all through the night. He imagined someone reading him the Quidditch scores from the newspaper every Sunday morning in bed. He imagined someone who wouldn't mind him sleeping with his broomstick beside their bed. For the first time, he imagined someone who wasn't Percy Weasley.

But the goose didn't seem to be interested in any of his teammates. At least, it wasn't interested in doing anything to his teammates apart from peck at them as they tried to get dressed for the game. The manager was not pleased. Neither was Coach Marx.

“Is that goose going to be flying after you during the game? Because if it gets in your way of blocking the rings—”

“It won't,” Oliver insisted. “I promise.”

“How do you know?” asked the manager, a tall, spindly woman named Lisa Goodium. “You've only had it a few hours. How can you prove to us what it will do if you take to the skies on your broom? If you haven't noticed, it's got wings.”

Oliver had definitely noticed. It had run and flown and done everything it could to follow him. Of course, he had no way of knowing what it would do during the game. He would like to think that it would stay on the ground where it would be safe. And he would like to think it would respect his passion for Quidditch and let him do his thing. But he couldn't prove anything.

“You're out,” Coach Marx said with a sigh. “Sorry, Wood. But until we know what's going on with that goose, you're grounded.”

“But, Coach—”

Goodium looked sympathetic. “You know we hate to have to do this to you. You've been playing so well for us lately. But we don't have any choice. You've tied our hands.”

“I have?” He didn't see how he'd done anything. It wasn't as though he had asked for a Soulmate Goose of Enforcement to visit him today.

Nodding, Goodium explained, “You've chosen to value your relationship over your position on the team.”

Oliver shook his head fervently. “No, I didn't.”

“First that article—”

“I didn't mean anything in that article, though. It was just for publicity. The team agents set it up.”

“And now the goose. Deal with your relationship, Wood. Follow the goose and get rid of it. Once you get it sorted, you'll be back in the rotation, maybe even starting again.”

Maybe? Oliver felt his heart sink low, hope fading. All the goose had done was show up and it was already ruining the best thing he had in his life. This wasn't fair at all. He didn't even want a stupid soulmate. “Fine.” Oliver threw down his helmet.

“Wood!” Marx called after him as Oliver stormed off to the showers. The goose honked, flapped, and took off after him.

He couldn't even drown his sorrows in private. The goose joined him in the shower, flapping as the water struck his back, washing over his feathers. Oliver found himself pressed to the side of the open shower room, out from beneath the running water. He sighed and leaned against the cold tile, breathing in the steam. It wasn’t exactly the shower he had intended to take, but it was better than nothing.

After toweling himself off, he got dressed in normal clothes instead of his uniform. If he was going to be benched for the game, he was determined to be as miserable as possible, and that included looking the part. But there was nothing that was going to keep him from watching his team play and, hopefully, win.

It was pretty clear from the start that that second part might be beyond their reach. Even though they hadn’t played the Ballycastle Bats that long ago, and Puddlemere had won that game handily, this time around it seemed completely flipped. The Ballycastle players seemed to know just how to break through to score and Puddlemere looked like amateurs. There were turnovers, mistakes, incomplete passes, and ruined plays. Oliver cheered as hard as he could for his team, and so did the home crowd. But it wasn’t enough to rally the players and change the tide.

The goose was not satisfied with standing and waiting patiently during the game. Repeatedly, it tried to take flight, even though Oliver firmly stayed on the ground. So he spent most of the game trying to restrain it, and holding down a giant, magical goose for almost an hour was not his idea of fun.

Marcus Flint flew by at one point with such a smirk on his face to see Oliver benched that Oliver had half a mind to defy his coach and manager, grab the nearest broom, and tear after him. He could fly circles around Marcus any day, even with a goose on his tail. And one good punch would certainly wipe that smirk off his face.

Oliver, with his goose a constant annoyance poking him in the back when it didn't have to be held down, watched his team lose 470 to 40. It was the worst loss Puddlemere United had had all season—the worst they’d done since Oliver joined the team, probably even in team history. Apart from goose honking and the sound of brooms and shoes hitting the floor, the locker room was eerily silent after the game.

He felt bad for his teammates who had tried their best and failed so badly. But he felt even worse when people started glaring at him in the locker room. Then came the whispers, the jabs, the insults. Someone pushed past him, bumping into his shoulder and not apologizing. Oliver hugged his arms to his chest, not sure what to do. Should he leave? Should he stand up for himself? He didn’t even understand what was happening here.

“Thanks, Wood,” said Jason Ruskin sarcastically.

Wood shook his head. “What did I—”

“If you hadn’t had that goose, you could have played, and then we wouldn't have lost.” Jason kicked a helmet down the length of the locker room and stormed off to the showers.

“I'm sorry,” Oliver whispered after him, uselessly. Nobody wanted to hear his apology. The loss was too terrible and too soon. They probably wouldn't want him around when they went back to the pub to get plastered and try to forget the loss. So he scooped up his goose, winced as it nipped his nose, and headed home.

Only the goose didn't want to go home. It fought him the other way, hissing and flapping and honking. It was a relief when he finally got back to his flat and closed the door. The problem was that he was thereby closing himself into a small space with an absolutely irate goose. It tore through his flat, knocking things to the ground, overturning others. Oliver started to run after it to minimize the damage before realizing that there really was no saving it. Even he, usually the starting keeper, wouldn't be able to defend his house against the goose forever. At some point, after all, he would need to sleep.

With a sigh, he flopped down on the couch. He gave a start at the loud crash that meant the goose had either found its way into the kitchenette cupboards or overturned the dish drainer. There was another crash a few seconds later; that one was definitely the dish drainer. Oliver sighed and tipped over to the side. He'd had it. He didn't want this goose. He didn't want a soulmate. He just wanted to play Quidditch, come home and relax, and then play more Quidditch.

The goose honked loudly, and he opened his eyes to see a beak coming straight at his face. Quick moves honed during many Quidditch practices helped him roll to the side just in time for the goose to peck his ear and not his eyes. He had a feeling tonight was going to be rough.

After the worst night of his life, Oliver limped from the bathroom to the kitchen for breakfast. He cast cleaning spells as he went along, trying to repair what could be repaired. He would have to throw away everything else. The goose was, if possible, even angrier than when he'd gone to sleep. It had bothered him all night, honking and biting and stealing his blanket all night. He couldn't do this again.

It was fairly apparent that something would have to be done. The goose would have to be followed.

So Oliver got dressed for the day, put on his coat and scarf, and walked over to the door to his flat. He opened it and turned around. It was his turn to glare at the goose. “All right. You win.” Oliver hated to lose, but at some point you had to admit defeat. “Take me to my soulmate, goose.”

It honked and made straight for the door. He took a deep breath and followed it.

It took him down the stairs and out to the curb. Then it stopped and looked up expectantly at him. “Should I call the Knight Bus?” he asked it, half expecting the goose to answer him. It didn't, though. It just honked and stared at him and didn't budge. Oliver knelt down, knowing it was probably going to bite him on the face. And that wasn't exactly how he wanted to meet his soulmate for the first time, bleeding and sore from a goose mauling. “Come on,” he said to it. “Where do you want me to go?” He placed a hand on its back and instantly felt the familiar sensation of apparition. As it tugged him along to somewhere unknown, he remembered hearing that soulmate geese could do this. He'd just never actually seen it happen. He had certainly never experienced it firsthand and had never wanted to. But here he was, spinning and slipping through the air from outside his building to...

Diagon Alley. He felt a little sick from the travels, and stayed squatting down, hand on the stone walkway beneath him, until he was a little less dizzy. The goose was impatient, though, and kept trying to nudge him to go down the street toward the shops. When he was able, Oliver obeyed its summons and trailed after it.

It seemed to know just where it was going. And then, just a few stores away from Flourish and Blotts' Bookstore, Oliver's chest clenched. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no. I'm not—”

“Honk!” the goose answered him, trying to lead him onward.

But standing right there dead center in the middle of the street was Percy Weasley.

Oliver's feet refused to move. The goose had to be mistaken. Percy couldn't be his soulmate. He just couldn't. Oliver wouldn't let this happen. Oliver wouldn't kiss him, wouldn't let the goose make this match. He would apparate away or run if he had to.

Percy spotted Oliver just as Oliver was trying to get his body to respond to the “Run! Run!” commands his mind was sending out. At first, Percy looked like he was going to raise his hand to wave but then thought better of it and lowered his arm again. Instead, he gave Oliver a curt chin-raise of acknowledgement, his eyes behind his glasses squinting a little as if looking hard enough might tell him what Oliver might be there for. That, presumably, was when he noticed the goose. Because his eyes went wide and he froze in place, just like Oliver was doing. “Run! Run while you still can!” Oliver's brain kept repeating, but his body just wouldn't work.

Luckily, this also meant he couldn't keep following the goose. It would walk ahead a few feet, honk indignantly to find it wasn't being followed, and then head back again. After jabbing him in the back of the leg a few times, it would then try to lead the way forward again. It repeated this almost a dozen times while Oliver and Percy just stared at each other.

Then, somehow, the spell was broken. The goose pushed Oliver forward from behind with such a hard head butt that Oliver stumbled forward a few steps. Seeing this, Percy reacted with alarm and quickly darted into the bookstore.

Oliver continued to go forward, even though everything inside him screamed for him to turn back around and get out of there while he still could. But he followed the goose, feeling sicker and sicker to his stomach with every step that brought him closer to the bookstore.

The goose trudged along at a steady pace, seemingly oblivious to Oliver's discomfort. Its mission was to lead him to his soulmate, obviously not to consider his mental or physical health.

Oliver started worrying about what havoc it would wreak inside the bookstore as it made him follow Percy. He wasn't sure he could go in there.

As it turned out, however, he didn't have to. The goose walked right to the bookstore and then right past it. As the realization set in that Percy was perhaps not his soulmate after all, Oliver felt a different sort of numbness set in, one where he once again was facing the unknown, blindly following this goose and not knowing where it would lead him. But it felt easier to walk, one foot in front of the other, the further he got from the bookstore. And then Oliver realized something else: the goose was leading him to his favorite shop.

Quality Quidditch Supplies stood right by the end of the row, glowing brightly with possibilities. He loved shopping there, of course. But he also just loved being in that store. The sense of belonging he felt when he was surrounded by so much Quidditch equipment was unparalleled. Could his soulmate be inside? Could his soulmate love Quidditch as much as he did? Could he be one of the gentlemen who worked in the shop? Or maybe the shop manager even? The possibilities flew through Oliver's head as the goose walked up onto the stoop and honked repeatedly at the closed shop door.

The place was absolutely packed, not surprising for a weekend. The goose didn’t seem deterred by the crowd, however. It moved slowly but steadily, weaving around people and in-between others. It seemed to know precisely where it was headed, and it only paused a few times to look back and make sure that Oliver was still keeping up with it.

As Oliver came around a display of broomstick polish, his gaze fell on someone who quite literally stopped him in his tracks. The most handsome man Oliver had ever laid eyes on stood before him. From the look of him, he clearly worked in the store, which explained why the goose knew to look for him here. The man had brown hair with blond streaks running through it that almost glowed as the morning sun streaming through the window fell upon him. His eyes were a spectacular shade of emerald green. He had strong cheekbones that didn’t distract from his chiseled jaw. And when he smiled he had dimples for days. He was tall, but not too tall that Oliver would feel dwarfed beside him. He was broad shouldered and big but not overweight. The tight brown shirt he wore beneath his orange store robes, open in the front, showed every curve and muscular bulge of his chest. His trousers, likewise, left little to the imagination apart from what delightful things he must be able to do with a gift the size of what he’d been given.

And what was more, the man was currently gesturing to a Nimbus brand racing broom, the best broom on the market as far as Oliver was concerned. Not only was this man attractive, but he knew his stuff and had excellent taste. Oliver was smitten almost at once and began to wonder why he had hesitated for so long. He should have followed the goose the night before. He had wasted so much time he could have been spending getting to know his soulmate.

The only negative thing that counted against the man, so far as Oliver could see, was that he was currently talking to Marcus Flint. But that was something fairly easy to remedy.

Oliver approached him slowly, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the man by rushing over. But the goose had other thoughts entirely. It ran at the man, flapping so hard it launched itself into the air. It didn’t collide with him, but it did circle around the two men and the broomstick in its vertical display case as well. Oliver hadn’t felt so simultaneously nervous and full of excitement since his very first Gryffindor house Quidditch match. He just hoped there would take no bludgers to the head this time around.

“Hello there,” he said, trying to sound cool and suave despite his heart practically dancing about in his chest.

Both men turned to look at him. The store employee smiled at him, the dimples making him look even more devastatingly handsome close-up. The man opened his mouth and Oliver was certain he was going to get a proper soulmate kiss or, at the very least, a declaration of passionate, undeniable love. Instead, he got a mildly cordial, “I’m busy assisting a customer at the moment, but I’ll be right with you, sir. Or you can find anyone else in orange robes to answer your question. Aubrey and Dennis are around here somewhere.”

Oliver blinked, not quite understanding what was happening.

Marcus smirked at his vacant expression. “Go on then. Bugger off, Wood.” He tilted his head a couple times in the vague direction of “away” as if he thought Oliver was so dim he might not understand his meaning.

“Honk!” the goose, which was still flying circles around them above their heads, finally settled down right on top of the broomstick display case. It was clearly marking its territory here.

But Marcus was having none of it. “And take your bloody magical goose with you, yeah?”

Oliver blinked again. He looked from the goose to his soulmate and back again. “I can’t,” he whispered so softly no one heard him.

“Huh?” Marcus’ smirk was turning into more of a sneer now.

The store employee cocked his head to the side, trying to be polite. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t catch that.”

Clearing his throat and summoning every bit of courage he had that made him a Gryffindor, he tried again. “I can’t go just yet. My soulmate goose lead me to you, and I need to know…” He stepped forward, placed his hand on the man’s chest, and waited for the goose to give the signal that this was the relationship he was destined for.

But that sign never came. The goose just sat on the case, staring down at him.

Oliver trailed off. What had gone wrong? Had he done something out of order or incorrectly? You were supposed to touch your soulmate and the goose was supposed to go nuts. And then you were supposed to kiss your soulmate and the goose was supposed to disappear. Oliver leaned in, closing his eyes, and then suddenly found himself stumbling forward into nothing but air.

He gave a startled sound and managed to catch himself from falling flat on his face. Behind him, Marcus chortled with laughter. In front of him, the man looked at him with alarm. “Ah, sir, I’m flattered, really I am. But I’m not gay. In fact, I’m in a relationship with the witch of my dreams. So whatever your goose might have told you, it’s made a terrible mistake.” Marcus was howling with laughter by now, and Oliver felt heat rise into his face. He didn’t just feel embarrassed; he felt mortified by this. “I’m sorry.” And he man did look it. He still looked spooked, but also wore a pitying expression.

Mentally calculating the quickest route out of the store or to somewhere he could run and hide and literally never show his face again, Oliver was further mortified by the hot tears that sprang to his eyes. He had actually started to believe all this shite about him having a soulmate. He should have known better. Quidditch was his one true love. Quidditch would always be his one true love. He’d sooner snog this broomstick than a bloke at this rate. Merlin only knew why the goose had led him here; maybe it really had meant for him to go for the broomstick and that was why he was still sitting on the case. But Oliver let himself think… had let himself hope. And then when he’d spotted this handsome specimen… he’d made a complete and utter fool of himself.

Determined not to let Marcus Flint of all people see him cry, Oliver turned at once and fled. The goose honked loudly in protest, but Oliver didn’t care. He didn’t care if the goose spent the next hundred years slowly mauling him to death. He didn’t even care if the goose never left; he’d learn how to catch it and trap it so it couldn’t apparate while he was playing an important match. He’d learn to live with it… and he would learn to live with the constant disappointment it represented.

Oliver pushed through the crowd toward the side door that led into the back courtyard. There were fewer people here to take notice of the tears streaming down his red cheeks. He swore under his breath and cursed himself half-heartedly for doing what he’d just done.

“Olly?”

Oliver wheeled around to see a stunned Percy standing there with a stack of books in his arms so tall they were tucked right under his chin to keep them from falling. Oliver’s eyes widened, though tears continued to spill from them.

“My God, Olly. Are you all right?”

Percy Weasley was the last person he wanted to see right now. No, actually, Marcus Flint was. But Percy was certainly second on that list.

“Fine, Perce.” He sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his face. “I’m fine.” But his voice broke as he said the words. Embarrassed and unable to stop weeping like some stupid, lovesick girl, Oliver took off again. He ran to the edge of the courtyard, found a spot where he could catch his breath, and apparated back to his flat.

Or, at least, that’s what he tried to do. A heartsick sob bubbled up in him just as he tried apparating. And, distracted by the overwhelming emotion, he only partly made it.

Oliver Wood had sustained many injuries over the years on the Quidditch pitch. Once in his second year, he snapped the tendons in his leg so badly that even after Madam Pomfrey fixed him up, he still had to sit out a game. But the pain in his body now was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He fell to the ground, whimpering and writhing around in pain. In a split second, he knew there was absolutely no way to think of a happy thought right now to summon his patronus and call for help. So he tried to get to his wand in his front robe pocket in order to try to stop the bleeding, but his hand was shaking so badly he fumbled and dropped the wand onto the sidewalk. He heard it clatter and roll away on the pavement, and with it any hope of saving himself. Only one last, desperate move was left. He reached out for it, hoping sheer force of will might accio it into his hand using wandless magic. “Accio!” he shouted with all the strength he had in him. But that didn’t work. The wand didn’t budge. And the pain was so intense he blacked out a second later.

Oliver woke to find his cheek pressed not into the sidewalk but a smooth, crisp pillowcase. Immediately disoriented, Oliver tried to sit up to get his bearings.

“Och, no.” A hand touched his shoulder and applied just a little pressure. On any normal day, burly Oliver Wood could have shaken off the touch to spring right out of bed. But he felt so weak and out of sorts that the simple touch was enough to push him back into the pillow and mattress and keep him from rising. “Lie still, son. You’ve got a fair bit of healing to do yet.”

Oliver closed his eyes tight. He knew that voice all too well and couldn’t believe this was really happening. “Why are you here, Mum?”

“They called me when they brought you in, of course.”

Of course. It wasn’t as though he had a husband or significant other they could call. Naturally, they’d call his mother down from the highlands. “What happened?” He remembered being upset, and his heart gave a pounding ache at how vivid and raw that emotion still felt to him. And he remembered trying to get home. And then pain. And dropping his wand. He hadn’t been able to call for help. How the hell was he still even alive?

“You’ve got a nasty magical wound here. It’s been mended, but it’s going to be a while before you’re back on your broomstick, I’m afraid. At least you had the foresight to splinch yourself in as public a place as Diagon Alley. That young Mr. Weasley fellow you’re dating saw you’d left an arm and leg behind and called the mediwizards.”

Oliver’s already closed eyes squeezed shut even tighter. “I told you last week, Mum. We’re not dating anymore. I broke up with Percy.”

“Well, maybe you should reevaluate that, aye? Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t thank him for saving your life. He’s a quick thinker, that one. Knew just where the rest of you was most likely to be. The mediwizards got to you just in time to save you.” She stroked his head like she used to do when he was a little boy, sick in bed with a bad fever. And, damn it, her touch was immensely soothing. “They put you back together, but it wasn’t easy. And it’s going to hurt for a while. So if there’s anything you need—”

This statement seemed to jog Oliver’s mind. His eyes flew open. “The goose!”

He saw his mom sitting in front of him, wearing house robes and slippers; she had rushed to St. Mungo’s so quickly she hadn’t even bothered to put on proper shoes. She frowned at him, though her eyes darted to the door and back again. “The goose is outside. The healers thought it wasn’t a good idea to let it come in, not while you’re trying to recover. Geese can get quite violent sometimes, aye?”

Oliver had firsthand experience with this, of course.

“There are anti-apparition spells on all the private rooms here. Not even a Soulmate Goose of Enforcement can get in here in any way other than the door.” She stroked his head again. “You’re safe here while you recover your strength.”

Oliver glanced over at the door. There was a glass window at the top of it, through which he saw a green and purple goose head rise up and back down again just as quickly. The goose must have been jumping and flapping, trying to get a look at him. It was mildly amusing to see it frustrated and unable to harm him this time. But he knew its wrath would be twice as severe when they two were reunited. He couldn’t stay in this room and avoid that goose forever.

But he could definitely stay here for a while. In fact, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. “Sit with me a little longer, Mum?” Oliver asked in a small, hesitant voice.

He felt a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll stay here as long as you want me to stay.” She stroked his head again, her soft fingers sliding over his hair. “Dinnae fash. You’re going to be all right. As long as you do exactly what the healers tell you, you’ll be playing Quidditch again before you know it.”

Oliver wondered if the healers knew a way to get rid of a soulmate goose, because that was probably the only way he’d be cleared to play again. But right now, he was too weak and far too tired to worry any more. He had his mum. He had a quiet, goose-less room. And he had two arms and two legs. Those were enough to be thankful for right now.

Oliver’s father visited him in the hospital a few times and his sister even dropped by at some point. Seeing the brand new engagement ring on her finger smarted a bit, but just because his love life was an absolute mess didn’t mean he wanted everyone to suffer. He was genuinely happy for her.

On the first day Oliver Wood was allowed visitors who weren’t part of his immediate family, he had a steady stream of friends and teammates drop in. Some came on their own while others came in small bunches. The healers and nurses wouldn’t allow more than five people to visit him at a time, but it was just as well because his room wasn’t really that big and having so many visitors was honestly a bit tiring for him.

The United’s team captain, Sinowen Jones, was his first visitor, which made a lot of sense. Oliver was glad to see him and wasted no time in apologizing for all that had happened—the goose, the loss, the injury that was going to keep him on the sidelines for a while.

“I’m just glad you’re still alive, Wood. We all are. The team healers will need to get a look at you when you get out of St. Mungo’s, but we look forward to getting you back as soon as you’re ready.” Sinowen patted Oliver reassuringly on his good arm.

The other Puddlemere United keeper, Robert Murphy, showed up about halfway into the afternoon. After the obligatory status update and well wishes, they navigated carefully to the topic of the last match and their horrible, terrible loss.

“I don’t know what happened,” Robert said, shaking his head. “It was like the other team took a luck potion or something. They could do no wrong, and I couldn’t stop a thing they sent at me. Especially that one chaser…”

“Marcus Flint.”

“Yes! Flint! That was his name!” Robert shuddered. “I see his face when I close my eyes now.”

Oliver nodded. He understood completely. Though Marcus’ face was a whole lot more handsome than it used to be, he had to admit. Marcus must have had his two front teeth fixed after that bludger hit him last year during the Chudley Cannons match. And he’d matured into a handsomely rugged man. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a complete jerk and a showoff at that.

“You’ve got to get better before our next match,” Robert pleaded. “I don’t think I can go back out there after that loss. I’m useless out there.”

One glance over at the door and the goose head poking up at the window every few seconds made Oliver doubt that he’d be playing in the next match, even if he did get better. He reached over with his good arm and patted Robert’s hand. “It’ll be okay, Murph. That game was a fluke. You’ve never played that badly before, and there’s nothing to indicate you will again. You just had a bad game—we both did. You played the best you could, right?”

Robert nodded.

“Then you should be disappointed, but you shouldn’t blame yourself.” He paused, smiling. “You should put all the blame on Marcus Flint.”

Robert pulled a face and raised a fist in the air, shaking it in an overly dramatic way. “Marcus Flint!”

Oliver laughed. They should start some sort of anti-Flint club.

One of the nurses in his ward came in to check on him then, so Oliver bid farewell to Robert and lay back, subjecting himself to a barrage of evaluative spells. She examined his arm and leg as well, testing his strength by having him push his foot against her palm and having him squeeze her finger in his fist. It wasn’t even magic, but it was an effective gauge nonetheless.

“You’re doing well,” she observed, pulling out a small ledger and a quill so that she could scribble down a few notes about his condition. “But you look tired.”

Oliver felt tired. He felt like he could use a nice, long nap just about now.

“Do you feel like you could handle one more visitor, or should I send him away?”

The news of someone else wanting to see him made him brighten up and wake up a little as well. Seeing so many of his friends all in one day had been so wonderful already. “Of course I do! Do you happen to know who it is?”

She nodded. “I believe it’s the young man who saved your life.”

Oliver froze. He knew he would have to face Percy sooner or later. But he’d hoped it would be later. Much, much later. A hundred years from now, preferably.

The nurse could tell from his expression that he was regretting saying yes so quickly, and she tried to reassure him. “I can always tell him you’re tired out and can’t see him, but he’ll just come back. He’s been here every single day this week asking about you.”

“Has he really?”

She nodded. “Even when we tell him you can’t have visitors outside the family, he just sits down in one of the seats at the end of the hall. I think he just wants to be near you, even if he can’t get in to see you. Sometimes the goose comes over to him, and he tries to pet it before it bites his hand. He’s persistent and fearless, that one.”

That made sense. Percy might be a prat and a jerk and a terrible human being for calling Harry, Dumbledore, and his whole family liars, but he was still a courageous Gryffindor. That must count for something. And he was obsessive, too. That was one of the things they’d had in common.

“No,” Oliver said with a sigh. “It’s all right. I think we probably have a lot to talk about, and if it comes to blows between us, at least we’ll already be right here in the hospital!”

The nurse did not look the least bit amused by what Oliver had intended to be a joke. She pursed her lips and looked at him dubiously.

“Really, it’s fine. Go ahead and let him in.”

As she slipped out the door, careful to keep the goose outside the room, Closing his eyes, Oliver tried to think what he might say to Percy Weasley about what had happened. Starting off with a thank you sounded like a poor idea, because it made him sound weak and indebted to Percy. That was really the last thing he wanted. He was grateful, and he’d get to that in time, but he didn’t want to lead with it.

He heard the door open and shut again quite quickly. He didn’t hear honking or flapping, so he assumed the goose hadn’t managed to sneak in here. At least one thing was going right. Best to get a conversation like this out of the way so he could start his rehabilitation with a clean slate. He took a deep breath as he heard footsteps approaching the bed.

“Percy, I—“

“I’m not Percy.”

Oliver’s eyes flew open. He knew that voice all too well, but he still felt gobsmacked. Standing right there in his hospital room was Marcus Flint. “You’re not Percy.”

“Yeah. S’what I just said. Did splinching mess with your hearing or something? Or maybe your brain? Then again, it was always a little off, so it might be hard for the healers to tell anything’s wrong.” Marcus chuckled to himself at Oliver’s expense.

Oliver was barely paying attention now. “But… but the nurse said the guy who saved my life was here. And Percy—”

Marcus laughed again, even more derisively. “Hate to burst your bubble, but that head boy Weasley froze up. I’m the one who used a spell to put your body parts in status to preserve them. I’m the one who kept the crowds back when everyone flooded out of the shops to see what was happening. And I’m the one who shoved Weasley to snap him out of it and told him to send word to the mediwizards at once. He was utterly useless. No idea whatsoever of what to do in a crisis. He’s a Ministry employee, right? Makes me worried about the government if it’s full of guys like that, I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.” It was just like a Slytherin to take credit for someone else’s heroics.

Marcus gave a little shrug. He strolled coolly and confidently to the arm chair next to Oliver’s bed and fit himself into it. “Believe whatever you like. I don’t care. I just wanted to see for myself that you were okay.”

“Why?” Oliver asked suspiciously.

Marcus hesitated a long while, starting and stopping a couple times before finally looking down at the bed and saying, “Honestly, it wouldn’t be as much fun beating you out on the pitch if you were missing half your limbs.” He started tracing invisible designs on the top blanket. Oliver couldn’t make out if they were letters or just drawings. “When do you think you’ll be able to play again?”

The careful phrasing of that question wasn’t lost on Oliver. It was almost as if Marcus purposefully wanted to spare Oliver trauma. He hadn’t asked ‘Will you ever be able to play again?’ He had asked when. Oliver was grateful for that, though he didn’t have a good answer. “Not sure I ever will. Even after I heal, team management won’t let me play so long as I have that goose following me around.”

Lifting his head, Marcus looked confused. “Just get rid of it.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, and look how that turned out for me.” He motioned at his arm, immobile in a magical sling to rest it as it continued to heal. “Besides, I’m not even sure I want a soulmate. I just want to play Quidditch. But that goose doesn’t seem to understand that.”

Nodding back, even though he’d gone back to drawing invisible shapes on the blanket with his index finger, Marcus said, “Most people in this world don’t understand about Quidditch. Some days it’s all I have to keep me going. It fills me with excitement and possibilities and gives me something to aspire to. Other days, it’s the opposite and I can never see myself playing as well as I want to. So I have to push myself harder.”

Why was Marcus telling him all this? And why did Oliver feel such a wave of understanding and agreement? “Try telling my goose that.”

“I did,” Marcus said softly.

Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“We had a couple heart-to-hearts out there. There were a few moments when the healers weren’t sure you were going to make it. They’d called your family or something, but they weren’t here yet. It was just me and the goose, and the healers wouldn’t let either of us into the room to see you. All we had were each other.” He made it sound like he and the goose were good friends. But how did you make friends with an angry goose?

“I’m surprised it didn’t bite your face off.”

Marcus chuckled. “Oh, it definitely tried. But I knew it didn’t really want to hurt me. And I knew it was worried about you.”

“How would you know?”

He took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. It trailed slowly from the bed, up Oliver’s body, and landed at Oliver’s eyes. He probed for a while, licking his lips nervously, pleading with his eyes for Oliver to understand, for Oliver to answer his own question. Finally, Marcus replied, though he did so in a soft whisper. “Because it’s my goose, too.”

Oliver burst out laughing. It hurt to laugh so hard, his body shaking, but he didn’t have a choice. The idea was so absurd, he couldn’t help it.

Marcus looked hurt. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“No,” Oliver gasped between laughs. “You… can’t… be.”

Marcus sat up, looking defiant and stubborn. It was a look Oliver remembered well from their years playing against each other at Hogwarts. Marcus always seemed to have a plan for his team and for his game play, even when it wasn’t a good plan. “I am, though. Here, I’ll show you.”

In a motion as quick as tossing a quaffle, Marcus stretched his hand out and placed his palm on Oliver’s chest. They both saw and felt the warm glow they had, until now, only heard about would happen when two soulmates found each other.

Oliver reeled back at once in alarm, throwing himself back against his pillows and headboard of the bed with such force it knocked the wind out of him. He shook his head and, as soon as he regained his breath, he yelled. “No! You’re not my soulmate.”

“You’re stupider than I thought you were. Didn’t you just see and feel what happened when I touched your chest? I’m pretty sure I am.”

“But… but I don’t want you as my soulmate!”

Marcus bristled at this. “You think I’m not good enough for you? Well, maybe you’re not what I wanted either! You think I want an obsessive, goody-goody Gryffindor as my soulmate? Hell no! But I don’t think we have a choice here, given how that goose outside is completely losing its shite out there.” He pointed a thumb in the direction of the door.

Oliver had to admit Marcus had a point there. Now that they had touched, the soulmate goose was honking constantly, flying at the door with loud thumps as if it were using its body as a battering ram, trying to break through to them.

A shiver ran through Oliver, and he tugged at the blanket as if the thin, askew little thing could reassure him with its warmth. That touch had been undeniable proof they were soulmates. And, yet, Oliver didn’t understand how it could be. How could they be possibly be soulmates? He hated Marcus Flint. Didn’t he? All right, Marcus claimed to have saved his life, and Oliver could appreciate that, as a Gryffindor. But that had been a fluke. Or a lie. He still wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The world had turned entirely pear-shaped on him. It felt as though he were playing Quidditch, on a broomstick in front of the hoops, but he was upside-down and the other players were right-side-up and for the life of him he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing as players and quaffles came at him. It felt like no matter what he did at this point, he was going to lose.

“I think you should go,” Oliver whispered.

Glancing back at the door, Marcus shook his head. He didn’t move from the chair. “I don’t think I will. Not until that goose calms down. And it’s probably not going to calm down until we kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you!” Oliver blurted out at once.

There was a brief flash of hurt on Marcus’ face, but it was so fleeting, Oliver thought he might have imagined it. “You think I want to kiss you? Of course I don’t! But I don’t think we have a choice in the matter if we want this to end.” He took a deep, audible breath in and out. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.”

Oliver hated being called out—by Marcus of all people. But he hated the idea of kissing Marcus Flint even more. “Can’t we just tell it—”

“There’s no reasoning with a soulmate goose, Wood. You should know that by now. Merlin’s pants, you really are dumb, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Oliver answered defiantly. “I just don’t want to… I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can. You’ve kissed a bloke before, haven’t you? Handsome, talented guy like you, you must have ‘em lining up outside your door.”

Oliver turned his head, feeling tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. As much as he hadn’t wanted to speak to Percy today, he would have much rather found himself in that conversation than one that was leading to him locking lips with Marcus Flint. He wasn’t about to tell Marcus that he’d only ever kissed one guy before, and that relationship had gone bad in the end. He didn’t really feel like the eligible bachelor The Daily Prophet sports reported had painted him to be.

“It’s not about the kiss,” Oliver said.

“So it’s about me then?” Marcus replied, cocking his head. “Well fuck you, Wood. I’ll have you know I’m a catch. Any normal guy would love to have me as his soulmate. Just because you’re conceited and egotistical and stuck in your ways doesn’t mean you have to ruin my life.” He scooted the chair closer and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you something. I always wanted a soulmate goose to come find me. Even after I figured out I was into blokes, I still wanted that perfectly sappy, romantic moment when I’d meet my soulmate and we’d have one of those exceptional kisses that are so good no one can come close to describing. And even when I realized back at that shop that my soulmate was you, I still wanted that moment. That’s why I ran after you. That’s why I saved your damn life. I wasn’t about to let my soulmate die without having a chance to kiss him.” He took another deep breath. “I wasn’t going to let the man I’m supposed to love die.”

Oliver’s mouth felt dry. He couldn’t have responded to that even if he wanted to. Marcus Flint with a heart? Marcus Flint wanting romance? That disoriented, upside-down feeling grew even worse, and he gripped the blanket tightly in his fist to hold onto something. It didn’t ground him as much as he’d hoped, however. And he was beginning to think that the only thing that might help at this point was just to kiss Marcus and get all this over with. The thing was, as much as he didn’t want to kiss Marcus, he couldn’t deny feeling that pull now to do so. Marcus was right. The goose wanted them to kiss and it wasn’t going to rest until they did. It was magic, which meant it would be relentless. And they couldn’t hide in this hospital room for the rest of their lives.

Not feeling particularly brave at all, his pulse racing like seekers after a snitch, Oliver leaned forward. Their faces were only centimeters apart. Oliver could feel Marcus’ warm, quick breaths. Oliver angled his head so they wouldn’t bump noses, and closed his eyes for the kiss. But the moment he did, that feeling of wrongness came over him so powerfully he couldn’t stand it. It was like the vertigo he’d had the very first time he’d gone up high on a broomstick, and it churned his stomach. Oliver pulled back at once, before their lips could touch. He just couldn’t bring himself to kiss Marcus Flint.

Marcus exhaled loudly, frustrated with him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wood. It’s just a kiss. What happened to your balls? You were the most aggressive keeper I ever played against. You were ruthless out there on the pitch. It was the sweetest thing in the world to score against you, because you made it so damn hard to do. And now that you don’t have a broomstick between your legs, you can’t just step up and perform? You’re pathetic. You’re scared. You’re a loser. You’re—”

Whatever else he was, Oliver never found out. He grabbed Marcus roughly by the neck of his shirt and yanked him forward. He kissed Marcus hard just to shut his damn mouth.

The second their lips touched, the constant sounds of goose honking and pounding ceased as well. The goose was gone. There was nothing they had to do now. They could part ways and never discuss this again. They could get themselves obliviated and never be any the wiser. Or they could just keep on kissing. Because this kiss was the best thing either of them had ever felt. Oliver had thought this whole thing was just so wrong. But this kiss suddenly felt so right.

And when Marcus started to pull away, Oliver wrapped his arms around the man, making him move in even closer, making the lips press harder, making the kiss deepen. Oliver felt tears in his eyes again. And even though he’d resolved to not cry in front of Marcus Flint, he felt the tears spill down his cheeks, wetting Marcus’ at the same time.

Pulling back as soon as he felt this, Marcus slid his hand down into his sleeve and used his cuff to wipe Oliver’s face. Oliver was too stunned at the unexpected action to pull away. “Hey, now. Couldn’t have been that bad. I’ve been told by multiple blokes that I’m a bloody amazing kisser.”

Staring down at his lap, Oliver couldn’t help but give him a weak smile.

“I mean, probably not as good a kisser as you, but…”

He trailed off as he saw Oliver’s smile widen.

“That’s better.” He passed his sleeve over his own face, rubbing back and forth a few times to dry it. “You feelin’ all right, Wood?”

Oliver nodded. “Aye, I think so.” But he wasn’t. He was feeling shaky and confused. Every bit of him yearned to be right back in that kiss again. He felt like he could kiss this man every moment of the rest of his life and still not get enough of him. He had to sit on his hand to keep himself from pulling the man close again for another kiss already. He had to keep his eyes cast downward so he wouldn’t catch sight of those alluring lips. But, in this position, he saw as well as felt his arousal. That kiss had done all sorts of things to him. He felt messed up, broken, ruined.

Nothing had gone right since that goose had shown up. Nothing had even felt right. And now he was lusting after Marcus Flint and that felt good and… “None of this makes sense.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where we go from here.”

Surprisingly, Marcus reached over to the arm Oliver had in a sling. Gently, he threaded his fingers between Oliver’s and squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t have to go anywhere we don’t want it to.”

In an instant, Oliver found himself crying again, in earnest this time. And before he could pull away, he found Marcus pulling him into a strong, warm hug. He felt Marcus’ hand rub up and down his back soothingly. “It’s okay. I gotcha. Get it all out of your system, you weepy girl.”

Oliver breathed out hard in as close to a laugh as he could muster while sobbing uncontrollably.

He clung to Marcus, burying his face into his soulmate’s chest. And Marcus held him tighter, indicating that he was willing to patiently wait as long as it took for Oliver to cry himself out.

It took longer than Oliver would have expected for the tears to pass. When they finally did, he felt weak, exhausted. He almost couldn’t summon the strength to move away from Marcus’ hug. And he almost didn’t want to. “Thanks,” Oliver said, pulling away at last. A few more tears fell, but he felt done with that at last. Marcus reached over to the bedside table and pulled the tissue box over so it was easier for Oliver to reach and help himself. Oliver dried his eyes, coughed to clear his throat, and blew his nose. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah, well…” Marcus said, shrugging. “I just thought that if I held you, you might not try to run away and splinch yourself again.”

Oliver did laugh this time. Marcus Flint was funny. Who knew? It was sort of a dark kind of humor, but it was still humor and unexpectedly funny all the same.

“Why did you come after me, anyway? Did you know we were soulmates even then?”

Marcus nodded. “I had a feeling, yeah. I had a feeling ever since I saw that goose at the match. That goose was the reason the Bats won that game, you know.”

Oliver resisted the urge to shake his fist in the air, cursing both Marcus and the goose this time. “Yeah, I know. I got benched and couldn’t guard the hoops.”

“Well, yeah. That’s part of it. But also I played better than I’ve ever played in my life. I had this lovely, warm feeling come over me the second I saw that goose. And then I was on fire. Everything I shot toward a goal made it through. I couldn’t miss a ring if I tried.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, which was a new look on him. “You don’t suppose we could get the goose back, do you?”

Again with the humor. Oliver laughed, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t know how to, even if it were possible.” He’d never heard of a soulmate goose coming back to a couple once it had left. He knew that sometimes soulmates had rocky times in their relationships. Sometimes they even separated or lived apart. But the goose never showed back up to help them rekindle their flame. Once a goose had seen you kiss, its job was done. They were on their own to figure out their future. And Marcus had been right. They’d met their obligation. This could go anywhere or nowhere now. “I’d like this to go somewhere.”

“Hmm?”

Oliver explained, “You said before that this didn’t have to go any further than we wanted it to. I just wanted to make it clear that I’d like it to go further, I mean, if you want it to also. You’re my soulmate. I’d be a complete idiot to walk away from that, especially if every kiss is as good as that one we just shared.”

“Y’wanna test that out?”

Oliver nodded. “Aye, that is, if you want to.” Marcus nodded back. So Oliver closed his eyes and leaned forward a little, meeting Marcus halfway.

Marcus started to kiss him back. Their lips were so close Oliver could feel their warmth. But then Marcus pulled back. Opening his eyes, Oliver saw the other man eyeing the tissue box. “Just want to be prepared. You’re not going to cry again, are you? ‘Cause that’s really not the least bit sexy. And I like my blokes sexy.”

With another laugh Oliver grabbed him and pulled him into the kiss.

It felt just as wonderful as the first one had. It was like fire and ice meeting, and he felt himself melting completely into Marcus. He had wondered at first if it was so good because it was so unexpected. But, no, this one was amazing. Marcus knew just how he liked to be kissed without even having to ask. This one lasted even longer than the first, once they introduced tongues and hand run through hair and bodies pressing up against each other. It was hard to get in the right position while being in a hospital bed, but by the end of it he lay flat on his back with Marcus right on top of him, their hardnesses pressed into each other’s thighs.

Marcus ended the kiss with a short, sweet kiss on his lips, like the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. But then he gave one more. And then one more. And yet one more, until they were kissing in earnest for a third time. Oliver felt his body shudder beneath Marcus’. He wanted to get off, but he didn’t dare do so where anyone could just walk in on them… or without asking Marcus if it were all right with him.

A few minutes later, Marcus rolled off him, gasping for breath. He wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand. “Bloody hell, Wood! Another second and you would’ve had me creaming my shorts like a teenager. What’s that about then?”

“Maybe your stamina isn’t as good as you thought it was?”

“You’re one to talk, what with you grinding your cock into my thigh like that.” Marcus glanced at the door to make sure they were still alone and that no one was watching them through the window. “But that, um, that kiss was good, yeah?”

Oliver nodded.

“Then I guess… I guess we should see where we want this to go. ‘Cause my body clearly wants it to go all the way, and it seems yours does, too.”

Oliver nodded again. “Let’s start with a date. Somewhere we can talk and touch and figure some shite out and not worry about a nurse or healer or my mum walking in on us.”

Marcus looked back at the door again, as if he expected Oliver’s mother to walk through it just then. But it stayed shut, thankfully. “I’ll come back to see you tomorrow, all right? I’ll come back every single day until you’re able to walk out of here on your own, and then I’ll take you out somewhere. Anywhere you want. A match or dinner or anywhere you want. I don’t care. I just want to fucking be near you.” He laughed at this. “If you’d have told me last week that I’d feel this way about Oliver Wood, I’d have crucioed you on the spot for sure.”

“Same—without the unforgiveable, I mean. And I want to be near you, too.”

At that the door did open, and a nurse stuck her head in. “Visiting hours are over for the day.”

They nodded at her until she left them alone to say their goodbyes. Oliver wondered if she had noticed that the magical goose was gone. It would have been almost impossible to not notice.

Flint settled back down into the armchair and leaned in for a soft, sweet kiss. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

“But you have to. Wish I could go with you.”

“Get better, Wood.”

“Knowing I’ve got you waiting for me when I do should hurry things along.” Grudgingly, he added, “Thanks for not letting me die, by the way.”

“Least I could do, considering it was my fault you splinched yourself.”

There were still parts of that morning that were blurry in Oliver’s mind, but he was pretty sure he’d managed to do that all on his own. “How do you figure that?”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “I laughed at you. I shouldn’t have done that. Soulmate geese mean business. But I can imagine how having one might mess with your mind. I knew it was there for me. I should have said something. But when you made a move on that sales clerk, I couldn’t help but laugh. You were hopeless and desperate to avoid the truth.”

“This truth?” Oliver said, catching him in another kiss.

“Mmmm,” Flint nodded. “Keep doing that and...”

“And what?”

“And I’ll have to break my promise to your healer.”

“What promise?”

“I promised him days ago that if he let me in to see you, I wouldn’t tire you out or get you overexerted or compromise your recovery in any other way.”

Oliver studied his face for a long time, letting the words roll around in his head. “Who are you, Marcus Flint?”

“I’m the Ballycastle Bats’ best chaser.”

Oliver snorted. “Hardly!”

“I’m a hero.”

“Debatable.”

“I’m your soulmate.”

Oliver took a careful breath in and out. Then he nodded. “Aye, you are that.”