Chapter Text
Small sobs echoed off the cold walls of the desolate changing room. Well, not completely desolate. The captain of Gryffindor's quidditch team sat rigidly in the far corner of the room with his knees up to his chest and hands pulling at his auburn hair. He shook with a violent stream of anxiety flying through his veins like a snitch cutting through air.
The final play of the season started in- Oliver looked up to the clock on the wall- 10 minutes and if Gryffindor didn't win this game against Ravenclaw it would be game over for the quidditch-obsessed boy (or so he told himself). It was his first year as captain you see, and it would be an understatement to say that he had done everything in his power to get himself and his team this far in the competition, he couldn't lose all that now.
However, the Scottish boy's nerves had other ideas. Maybe it was his fear of bludgers? or growing pressure from the audience? But before every game it was as if a chain reaction of anxiety set off within him, like a wild, untamed forest fire that set his skin alight. Don't get him wrong, he adored the great sport with everything he had in him, but he cant help this unwelcome anxiety. It has always been there and he has a dreaded feeling it will never go away.
Oliver stared at the clock for a few more minutes, beginning to lose himself in the rhythmic beat of the clock's tick, tick, tick. When the crowd's booming cheers rolled into the changing room in waves, Oliver was ripped out of his daze. Heart still pounding but the crying had fortunately dimmed down. The Scot pushed himself up from the ground and he began to rush out of the room, broom in hand until someone came crashing into him from around the corner.
"ah- ow!" A girl's voice sounded from below the boy.
Oliver looked down in confusion at a Ravenclaw girl he didn't recognise and furrowed his eyebrows, instantly holding his hand out to help her up. The girl in question was too busy brushing off her robes and mumbling profanities to herself to be bothered by the kind gesture. Oliver cleared his throat and was finally met with the thinned blue eyes of the unknown girl, who only stared back and forth between his outstretched and hand and the boy's red, puffy eyes. Finally she placed her tiny hands in his as he pulled her up, eyes never leaving his, and his never leaving hers. Oliver cleared his throat to speak, simultaneously dropping his hand from her's as he forgot he was holding it.
"The Ravenclaw stands are on the other side of the pitch" He told her in a matter of a fact tone.
"Oh uh, I know. I was just looking for my- Have you been crying?" The white-haired girl interrupted herself, tilting her pale face to the left as she stared at the boy.
"Have I what?"
"Been crying." she repeated, with a certain sting to it, making him sound stupid.
Such a Ravenclaw, he thought as if the word itself were some sort of slur.
"Oh" Oliver tore his brown eyes from her blue and shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"Yeah"
"Why?" she stepped forward, curiousness laced in her thick English accent. This caused the boy to once again meet her intense gaze, it was as if she was trying to figure him out just by reading his face.
Who was this girl? And why does she ask so many questions? Oliver recounted to himself.
"Doesn't matter" Oliver dismissed, brushing a little too harshly past her shoulder and out of the changing room, towards the pitch.
"HEY!" The Ravenclaw called out to him, abruptly stopping him in his tracks. His eyes followed her every move as she went to catch up with him. Once she had, he raised his eyebrows in impatient expectation.
"It's okay to be nervous before a game, you just need to remember that all those people above you" she paused and pointed to the stands that they currently stood under. "Believe that you can win, even some of the Ravenclaws" she giggled, showing off two defined dimples on her rosy cheeks. The giggle sent a chill straight up Oliver's spine which he chose to ignore, however still listened intently to what she had to say.
"Tha-" Oliver began to thank the girl but was abruptly cut off.
"Oi! Wood! Get your ass in gear we've got a game in three minutes!" Fred Weasley popped up behind him as if by magic, scaring the life out of Oliver.
"Fu- don't do that!" The Scottish boy scolded, turning around to meet the taunting face of the mischievous ginger and slapping him round the head. Fred winced but brushed it off with a hearty laugh knowing it was all in good taste. He watched as Oliver turned back round, confusion defining his features at the empty space where the girl once was.
"Something wrong Wood? Looks like you've seen a ghost?" Fred questioned, patting Oliver on the back.
Had I seen a ghost? no, that's stupid of course she was real. But what was her name?
Oliver shook the questions off now that he and became aware that his thoughts had been completely torn away from quidditch and his nerves had dissipated into excitement.
Wow Oliver thought to himself I should really have a pretty girl with platinum hair around more often.
With a wide grin on his tan face, Oliver was ready to win this game. To win the house cup.
"Come on Weasley we've got a game to win!"