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“If you don’t write anything we’ll be here all night”
For a moment you think he might not have heard you, but the way your voice echoes in the empty classroom makes it obvious there’s no way that’s the case. Oliver is sitting on the other side of the room, having left a whole desk between you two, completely ignoring your presence. You play with the piece of parchment in front of you, making it spin underneath your index finger. His resting completely untouched at his desk, it doesn’t seem like he has any intention of writting the essay McGonagall has told you to write during detention. He’s completely slumped on his seat with arms crossed in front of his chest and legs stretched freely. The subject, “why I shouldn’t break curfew” should be easy enough.
“It should be enough just writting that there is a maniac on the loose, right?”
”That just makes you sound dumb"
Oliver has no asnwer for that, instead you see his shoulders come up and down with a heavy sigh. The lit candlesticks hung on the wall offer very little light, but you can see he’s frowning. You don’t need light to know that, however, Oliver Wood always seeming to wear a scowl on his face whenever something inconvenienced him even if just a little. He can’t deny that he was at fault for being out of bonds after curfew, but how was he supposed to plan for practice without his notes? If Angelina and George hadn’t broke into that small kerfuffle about the Canons game he wouldn’t have forgot to take it with him, too busy lecturing them on how Jenkins needed to get his shit together if they wanted to win. He hadn’t counted on running into you in the hallway, the news of Sirius Black lurking nearby in the back of your heads and making you scream bloody murder, waking half the castle. McGonagall had already been in a foul mood when it came to Oliver after he had insisted on letting Harry Potter use the possibly hexed firebolt, so she was almost happy to give him detention.
“And why were you outside?” he asks, a sharp edge to his voice that makes your sink a bit in your seat “Seems like I’m not the only stupid one”
If Oliver’s behaviour is anything to go by, he seems to blame you for getting caught. As McGonagall sent you to the empty classroom he had walked ahead of you with haste, pushing the wooden door until it had bounced back on the stone wall behind it with schreeching protest. He had then sat on the desk and hadn’t said anything until you spoke to him. You finish writting the first line on your essay, the soft scratch of quill against parchment oddly comforting in the tense silence.
“I didn’t call you stupid, I called you dumb” you mutter, not sure if you want him to hear you or not “I was trying to study at a quiet place, okay?”
“Don’t you have a common room for that?”
His head falls back slightly against the back of his seat, as if trying for his voice to reach you better. There’s no need for that, any sound feeling too loud in the quiet of night.
“It’s quite hard to concentrate with all the yelling and horsing around in there, you know?”
”What house are you in?”
Your hand stills, the soft taps of your quill tip against the glass bottle coming to a halt. He can probably feel the hole you are burning in the back of his head, and whether is that or the unsettling silence, his face turns slightly towards you.
“Gryffindor. We’ve been in the same class for seven years”
The frown that has caved in over his eyes so deeply since he ran into you softens and disappears in embarrassment. He starightens himself on his seat, and you hear him clear his throat.
“Yeah, I think I remember you”
“Sure”
You dip your quill on the ink again, getting rid of the excess before writting another disjointed sentence to your essay. You don’t notice how he peers at you over his shoulder.
“But, we don’t have classes together now, right?”
You exhale loudly, sucking at your teeth in an annoyed manner.
“Muggle Studies and Herbology”
“Oh” Oliver nods, pensive “Do we sit close?”
“Does it matter?” you ask, tone a tad angrier in an attempt to to hide your embarrassment. You have known Oliver since your first year, and while not particularly close nor aquintanced with him you were at least aware of him. You guess that’s too much to ask for someone suchs as yourself “Everybody knows you don’t pay much attention to anything but Quidditch anyway”
“Yeah well, I’m planning on going pro, so...”
You spare him a glance, intrigued by how quiet his tone had been towards the end of that sentence. He’s playing with his fingers, his posture slightly turned away from you.
“Wow. I understand now why you don’t have time to spare any time to a mere peasant like me”
“Is not---” he trips over his words and his chest heaves with a sigh “Don’t tell anyone I said that”
His voice shakes slightly, no trace of the coldness it had been laced with just a few minutes ago. You let your shoulders ease, anger dispelling on your chest and an amused smile finding its way to your lips.
“I won’t. Just like when you went into the girls bathroom in your third year and scared a poor girl out of her wits”
You don’t see him jump on his seat, but you definitely hear it. Heavy wood against stone, loud and uncomfortable, making you wince thorugh your smile.
“What--- I don’t know what you are talking about”
“Sure”
Silence stretches between you two but you know it won’t last. You can hear his silence, the way he’s not moving, stiff as a statue. He doesn’t turn when he finally asks:
“Who told you that?”
“No one. As I said, I won’t tell anyone”
Oliver turns to you, confusion set in his brow so deeply you think he’s back at being mad at you.
“That was you?”
“You are so smart” you shoot at him, feeling brave enough in his embarrassment to take a jab at him “How many NEWTS are you taking? Ten, twelve?”
You let yourself smile but it freezes as soon as you see how seriously he’s looking at you, fingers gripping your quill a bit tighter. You almost feel bad, but there is something about the way he’s looking at you.
“Why were you crying?”
An uncomfortable feeling sets itself on your chest, but you know you only got yourself to blame for bringing it up.
“What’s that?”
“When I got into the--” he looks around the room as if expecting someone to be hidding nearby“-- the girls barthroom. By accident might I add. You were crying, were’t you?”
“I don’t remember” your quill hovers over your parchement, so far only two sentences written on it. Oliver’s eyes are still on you for a few more seconds before he turns around, the weight of them liftting from your shoulders. Maybe you just don’t want to sit in silence, or maybe you don’t find him unpleasant, but you tell him “I wasn’t paying attention during charms. I accidentally got my own hair cut”
He chuckles before turning around again, arm resting over the back of his chair.
“I do remember some girl cutting her hair back then”
“Oh, so that you remember. That’s nice”
“At least I remember something”
“You laughed at me, though”
That seems to offend him “No I didn’t”
“Pretty sure you did”
You know for a fact that he had found it quite amusing. His face was one of these that had been burnt on your memory as you had risen from your seat, the sound of the chair dragging against the floor muffled between the laughs of your classmates. You could remember him sitting at the back of the class near the door, a surprised chuckle leaving his mouth as his eyes became wide as you ran past him.
“If I did... I apologize” his words are slow and measured, and you are taken aback by how mature he sounds “It grew well”
Thinking about it, you are not sure of what impression you’ve had of Oliver all these years. He’s quite hot-headed in the pitch, almost imposing in the way he commands his team, even when you see him getting teased by them. In class however he has always been quiet but surprisingly applied, in fact you were shocked when you didn’t see him in Defense Against The Dark Arts at the beginnign of his sixth year, having always excelled at it. You had almost asked him for help once with a particular spell, but if you are being honest, he scared you a bit back then. He always walks like he’s got somewhere to be and he’s a bit late, barely sparing people around him a glance. Thinking about it, is not that weird to think he has never noticed you.
“What were you doing in the girls bathroom anyway?”
“No reason”
“You do realize saying that makes it worse, right? Come on, you owe me”
“For what?”
“For running into me at my lowest in the girls bathroom?”
Oliver hesitates for a moment, finally slumping on his seat, distracting himself by picking at a thin thread dangling from the edge of his worn sweater.
“I was hiding” he finally says after a brief pause, voice low “From Marcus Flinch”
That was odd. You don’t know much about Oliver but if there’s something everyone knows is that he’s not one to run from confrontation. In fact, some might say he’s got a good mouth for getting into trouble, blunt and straightforward as he is.
“Why?”
“He ran into me in the hallway and, funnily enough, threw some charm at me. We had been swept by Slytherin the day before and he was taking the piss out off me. It burnt a lot so I ran to wash my face”
“Why didn’t you go to the Hospital Wing?”
He shifts uncomfortably on his seat. “Well, it was my eyes, and they hurt. So, you know...”
You blink for a moment and then chuckle. You notice him looking at you from the corner of his eye, ears slightly pink.
“So we were both crying in the girls bathroom” you say, and he turns around with a deep frown.
“That’s not--” he stops when he sees your smile. He finds himself fighting back one of his own “Shut up. Don’t tell anyone”
“I never did”
It’s true that no one has ever mentioned it to him. He had felt his blood run cold and burning hot all over when you had mentioned what he considered to be one of the worst moments of his whole school life. Truth to be told, he had been crying for more than the charm.
“I’m sorry” you hear him say.
“What about?”
“Laughing at your hair”
Your eyes rise from your parchment to him. He’s turned slightly towards you, and you are almost sure he has forgotten he’s supposed to be writting an essay.
“I’m sorry I screamed so hard that you fell to the floor. Knowing you were half blind makes it less funny now”
The pink hue at the tips of his ears crawls down to his cheeks.
“Okay, stop remembering things about me”
“Oh, but I do remmeber things”
“Like what?”
“I’m not telling you”
“Why?”
You can tell he’s nervous, probably wondering how many more secrets you’ve got about him. You are enjoying seeing him squirm like this, even though if it makes you feel guilty.
“Because you not knowing I exist makes me having memories of you seem like a crazy person”
“I can remember you, I just did!” he’s about to say something else when his eyes widen in relaization “TRY-OUTS” he exclaims, and you feel like McGonagall might come back and give you double detention for waking everybody else again “You tried for the Quidditch team a few years back”
“You can remember that but you can’t remember us taking Herbology together today?”
“I don’t care about Herbology”
“I can tell”
Oliver rolls his eyes “Is not a you thing. I’m sure that if I try to remember anyone from class I won’t be able to”
“So you are not awful to me, you are just awful”
“I don’t think awful is the word, it's a bit harsh don’t you think?”
You give him a look.
“You called me stupid before”
“Sorry about that” he slouches on his seat, eyes darting around the room “My head is just on the pitch, you know?”
“We all know”
“Going back to that, you tried for Chaser, right? You were quite good, nice passes, good reflexes, very good broom” You put your quill down, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a more defensive position on your seat “Do you still have it?”
“Oh, so now you remember?”
“As I said, head is in the pitch” he taps his temple with his index finger, a proud smirk tugging at his lips.
You shake your head in disbelief, your body shaking with a chuckle.
“That’s actually quite impresive”
“Thank you. You didn’t make the cut, though”
You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, deciding whether to bite it or not.
“Obviously”
“Is nothing personal is just--”
“It was personal, though” maybe you won’t bite it “You haven’t changed the team since your fifth year, no new players at all”
“I have a solid team” he says matter of factly “I can’t remove the Weasleys, obviously. Harry is our star and our Chasers are---”
“Subpar, at least two of them”
You pretend to lower your voice, but keep it loud enough for him to hear.
“Oi, watch it” that seems to irk him, but you are past the stage of being intimidated by the harshness of his tone “Do you think you could do better?”
“We’ll never find out” you say drily, your mood turning sour. It’s something that would come back to you from time to time, but you hadn’t thought you’d still be this upset. After a few seconds Oliver seems to realize the conversation is over on your side. He huffs slightly and turns to his own paper, dipping his quill on the ink for the first time and proceeding to write absolutely nothing for the next few seconds, focused on the sound of your writting. His head perks up fast when he hears the sound of your chair dragging against the floor, light footsteps settling in the desk that stands between you two “What team?”
“What?”
“What team will you join when you go pro?” you say it nonchalantly, attempting to liven up the mood.
Oliver’s first reaction is to assume you are making fun of him, but your voice must have sounded sincere enough, as you can see his stiff shoulders lowering with a soft exhale. He taps at the table with his finger before answering.
“Puddlemere would be nice” he mutters, embarrased.
“Are you a Pudlemere fan?”
He shrugs.
“Sort of, would like to play with them. They got a decent coach, but I think I have a few ideas they could try to better themselves”
“So... you think you have it in you to better a professional team?”
Oliver shrugs “Yes”
He scans your reaction, almost expecting you to laugh at him. Your eyebrows are raised and your mouth parts in a loopsided smile, but not a trace of mockery in sight.
“Okay” is all you say.
“What?”
“Nothing, you are funny”
“What’s funny about what I said?” his cheeks flush pink under the warm ligth of the candles.
“Nothing, you sounded kind of cool” there’s nothing in your demeanor that seems malicious, so despite his embarrassment Oliver accepts the compliment, his chest swelling a bit with pride “You are fun to talk to too”
His head cocks your way, you can tell he wasn’t expecting that. The truth is that this is the first time anyone has ever used these words to describe him, aware of how he comes across. He has heard it all: stubborn, quick-tempered, overbearing... the kindest way his friends would describe him was “a nice bloke” which he was very happy with. Until now.
“You are alright too, I guess”
“You guess?”
Oliver spreads across his seat, limbs hanging from the chair almost like a ragdoll. He has no intention to write at all, does he?
“Do people say things about me?”
His eyes look away when they meet yours, confusion shinning past them.
“What do you mean?” he shrugs almost like he doesn’t care “I don’t know. Why would I know”
“You seem to pay attention to me”
“Excuse me?” your voice rises in outrage, reverberating on the stone walls and making Oliver flinch “This is just how normal people interact with each other! I don’t pay attention to you” you mutter.
You can’t see Oliver’s face as he’s resting it against the palm of his hand, but his body is shaking with laughter.
“Okay, jeez” The remaints of laughter lace his words, he coughs a few times with a smile.
“But since you mentioned it... there was talk of you having a crush on Katie Bell”
Oliver straightens on his seat in one sharp, swift motion, making you close your mouth in a expression of comical shock.
“What? I don’t!” he says, the way you are looking at him making heat crawl up his neck “I seriously don’t! Who said that?”
“That’s just what I heard”
“Where”
“The common room? I don’t know”
“Well, I don’t. She’s a fine flier and all but--” your eyebrows rise and his face reddens “She is! She takes good care of her broom and she doesn’t complain about drills”
“You are not helping yourself here”
“I don’t fancy her!”
“Fine!” you say and Oliver gives you something akin to a warning look that is hard to take seriously when his cheeks are so flushed “People don’t believe you can experience any non-quidditch related emotions anyway, so I wouldn’t worry much about it”
Oliver’s bottom lip potrudes slightly as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye.
“I can”
“Make up your mind, mate”
“Oh, wait!” Oliver rises from his seat, a crooked smile on his face as he points his index finger at you. You have a very bad feeling about it “You had a crush on Fred, right?”
“Shut up”
Oliver is delighted by the way the smile disappeares completely from your face as you sink in your seat.
“That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Why do you even know that?”
“Because--” just as yours had done, his smile stills and falls, his expression turning serious.
“What”
“Nothing”
Oliver sits down again, facing the wall with his back facing you.
“It’s obviously something”
“I got it wrong, sorry”
“What is it!”
Your gaze sticks to the back of his head, and his fingers drum nervously on the table, knee starting to bounce. He can tell you are not going to let it go. He tursn to you slowly, scratching the back of his head as his eyes fixate on the stone floor.
“You.. gave him candy for Valentine’s a few years back” he says almost as if it’s a question. You nod and so does he, something tells you he was hoping you wouldn’t “So... that’s why”
“Okay... so what’s all that about, Oliver” his gaze shoots up at you when he hears his name. It feels weird somehow, hearing his name for the first time in someone’s voice “What is it?”
“So... it was at the Common Room, on the table. I guess he left it there” He clears his throat and starightens himself a bit on his seat “We were talking Quidditch and you know... me and some other people might... have... eaten it. We didn’t see the note until it was done!” he bits his lip, analizing your reaction. When he sees none, just your eyes on him, unreadable, he continues “We all felt really bad about it, you know, when you were kind of looking at him for a while after that”
He can remember now him and the others sitting at the dining table that same day. Of course, how could he had forgotten what house you were in? He can remember you sitting there, a few seats away from him, staring as Fred passed by and sat with them without so much of a glance your way. The sight had made his stomach turn then and it did now that your face was more clear in his memory, vivid.
“Did he read it though?” you ask “The note. Before you ate it?”
“Well, we didn’t want to tell him because we knew he’d get upset. He got a bit of a temper. And he gets so much stuff anyways so we knew he wouldn’t notice--”
“Oh, that makes me feel better” you cut him with a humorless chuckle “I thought I had gotten rejected and ignored but in reality I was just... whatever. I wasn’t expecting him to say anythign anyways”
It was true that you hadn’t expected anything from Fred, obviously. However there had been that painful bit of hope that never seemed to go away, longing for the small possibility that maybe... just maybe; a pitiful ‘what if’. There had been nothing of the sort, not even a simple thank you, and that had been more painful than any rejection. Fred was known for being a riot, but he was also kind, and yet he hadn’t spoken a single word to you. Oliver’s knee started bouncing nervously, his eyes set on the way yours seem to be lost miles away, your jaw tensing slightly. He stood up from his seat, moving to sit next to you on the desk, grabbing his parchment carelessly and making it wrinkle as he brought it to the table.
“I’m really sorry”
“It was ages ago” you shake your head, tone softer in response to how sincere he sounds “I don’t even like him anymore, so... whatever”
“Oh, well. That’s good then”
“Is not like it would have mattered if he ate it” you reassure him, attempting to also ease the ill feeling in the pit of your stomach you hadn’t felt in years “Wasn’t going to make him notice me anyway”
He can hear the faint attempt at a smile in the way you speak these words and his chest aches a bit, guilt pressing against his ribcage.
“I think he’d like you, if you talked to him”
The statement doesn’t make you feel better, if anything it makes you feel worse. There’s nothing about you that could endear Fred Weasley, that’s a simple fact. You know Oliver means well, but pity is the last thing you need right now.
“Sure”
“No, I mean it. You are... nice”
“Wow, thanks. I feel so special now”
“You are” he says before turning mockingly serious “I think this might be the longest conversation I’ve had in the last seven years, actually”
His delivery makes you burst into laughter, and he smiles with a satisfied grin, breaking character.
“Oh, you are funny now!”
“I guess I am”
“Is this the first non Quiditch related conversation you’ve ever had?”
He ponders for a moment, lips purisng in concentration.
“Jokes aside? I think it might be”
Your laughters mix together and the room feels full, brighter despite the long shadows spreading through the dimly candlelit chamber.
“Well, you have to be serious if you want to join the Puddlemere soon” Oliver smiles but looks away, still feeling embarrassed about having told you that “Do you really not spend time on anything else?”
Oliver shakes his head “Not really”
“So you don’t fancy Katie Bell?”
His mouth opens and closes a few times before sighing, a resigned look on his face as he turns to you.
“... I did for a bit, okay?” he admits in confidence, sounding defeated “How did people even find out?”
“Maybe you are easy to read”
“It was awful. I got teased a lot by those two pricks and the giggles and everything” his eyes meet yours, falling to your amused smile “Yeah, those little smirks too, I hated them. Leave me alone”
He waves a hand at you, turning to face forward, obviously flustered by the memories of all the teasing that had gone down back then. Katie’s awkward smile every time they had met each other in the hallways and during practice had haunted him for years, a feel of shame and embarrassment of a kind he had never felt before or since.
“Only one parchment away for that to happen. You should hurry”
Your own parchment is still practically empty, and you stare at it with heavy eyelids, already feeling the weight of sleep forcing them close. You write another disjointed sentence, hoping McGonagall won’t actually read it.
“What will you do, when you graduate?”
The scratchy sound of quill dragging against the parchment stops as you ponder on the question. It’s been something you have tried not to think about and yet it seems to follow you into every room, every conversation.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll become a pro quidditch player” you joke.
“What do you want to do?” he insists.
“I don’t know” His interest earns him a confused look from you, and a moment passes between you two “I’m not like you”
“What do you mean?”
“Again, you are... kind of cool”
Oliver’s eyebrows presses over his eyes, his foot still tapping against the floor almost imperceptibly.
“Why?”
“You know what you want to do... you are doing it. In the meantime I feel like...” you shrug, letting your silence fill in the blanks.
“Well, I also feel... sometimes, you know?” he stirs on his seat, pulling at his sleeves again “Like, I’m working so hard, right? I can say that” He pauses and looks at you with a slight turn of his head, as if asking for confirmation “If for some reason that’s not enough... then it’s over. I’ve got nothing else”
His voice is bare and low and maybe that’s what makes you scoot a bit closer to him. You notice his fingers fidgeting with a string dangling from the edge of his sweater, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowes drily.
“Good thing that you are going to be the youngest professional player in the country then”
Oliver’s head turns to you ever so slightly. You can see a smile tugging at his lips, eyes turning into a crescent under its weight. He doesn’t fully turn to you, looking in the opposite direction and his fingers still, resting over the wooden desk.
“Are you making fun of me?” he teases “I know some people do”
His laugh is quiet but still reverberates through the room with a soft rumble. Your mind travels somewhere else, not realzing a small spot of ink expanding through where you have rested your quill for too long now.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure” he replies, way too quickly.
You both stare at each other for a second too long before you build up the courage to bring it up.
“Last year... when you lost against Ravenclaw” your words are cautious, knowing how deep that cut was, Gryffindor had taken a good few weeks to recover from it. No one had taken it as hard as Oliver though, that you knew better than anyone else “I couldn’t sleep and went down in the common room... late at night”
You say that last part with certainty, knowing that he will understand. Sure enough, Oliver’s face turns a bit solemn, eyes falling down at his lap.
“You saw that?”
You had, actually. It had been one of these nights in which there were way too many thoughts swarming your mind and no matter how tired you were, sleep didn’t seem to catch you. After tossing and turning you had gotten out of bed, making sure to not wake anyone up and walked down the stairs of the Girl’s Dormitory to the Common Room. When you set foot on it you heard a noise that made your skin crawl. You hid under the stairs, heart beating wildly as you tried to adjust yourself to both the silence and the pitch dark of the room. With a hand over your mouth you stayed completely still until you heard the noise again. It had startled you so horribly that your brain hadn’t been able to process what it had been, but now it was clear. Someone was crying in the dark room, not a small fire nor a single candle lit.
“Well, listened” you say “I’m sorry. I walked in and I saw you and I... stayed on the stairs”
“On the stairs? Just, listening?” his question is halfway between amused and confused.
You remember peering behind the wall of the stairs into the room, Oliver’s shape familiar yet hard to make out in the dark. It wasn’t until the moonlight had seeped through the cloudy night sky and through the high windows that you could see his face.
“I’m not sure. I think it didn’t feel right leaving you alone” you admit, feeling embarrassed right away “I kind of wanted to go and pat your back and say... I don’t know, comforting words or something, but we didn’t know each other” Your hand moves to you neck, it feels even hotter under Oliver’s eyes which you are trying to avoid “And now I know that you didn’t even knew I existed so I just... stayed there, thinking about how cool it’d be to be a good person and cheer you up”
You let out a small laugh, trying to ease your embarrassment.
“I think I would’ve liked it” he finally says.
“Yeah?”
“No” Oliver chuckles and casually nudges at you with his elbow “I would have gotten really embarrassed and walked away. I’d probably have been rude too, so you did the right thing”
“I would have been terrified if you had been mean to me”
“I’m sorry. In a hypothetical way”
“Oliver Wood knows the word hypothetical?”
“Oi!”
He playfully pushes you away with his arm, and you become painfully aware of how athletic his frame is, his slight touch moving you away with ease.
“Hypothetically speaking...” you start, and you both share a look “I think we could have been friends, at some point”
Your draw out the sentence, abashment apparent but not unwelcome.
“Me too”
“If only you had been aware that I existed”
“I was! It’s just...”
“I’m just not on your Quidditch board?”
“Exactly!”
“I could have, if you had put me in it” you turn away from him, facing the front of the class “But it’s okay”
Oliver’s lips part in an amused yet offended expression.
“That’s low”
“Is it? I think it’s valid criticism”
“I have very good judgement when it comes to my team”
You nod to yourself as if preparing yourself to release your tongue from the grip you’ve had it in all night.
“So, no one making the team had nothing to do with the fact that that was the year you had a crush on Katie Bell? Who we’ve stablished you liked and is also, statistically speaking, your worst Chaser?”
“So you know statistics now?”
“Am I wrong?”
“That’s...”
He opens and closes his mouth, his eyes walking around the room looking for a way to deny what he knows he can’t. He knows you’re right, he knows he didn’t want to put Katie on reserve, having been worried to hurt her feelings. He bites the inside of his cheek, lips trying really hard to not press into a smile as he looks away from your accusatory gaze.
“I knew it!” you say, savoring the sweet taste of victory “Everybody knew it, actually. That’s how people relaized you liked her”
“Do you people want me to have feelings or not?” he snaps, finger pulling at the neckline of his sweater, the room feeling hot out of nowhere.
“I don’t personally care”
“Oh, I think you do”
“I just wanted you to admit it. You remembered me quite well from the try-outs so I’m assuming you thought a lot about it. It’s cute, really”
“Can we change the subject?” he asks, voice raising in a plea.
You pretend to ponder for a moment, finger tapping at your lips.
“Fine by me”
“So, why did you fancy Fred?”
“Actually let’s circle back to Katie” a laugh rips through Oliver’s chest, head hanging back and you catch yourself staring at him a bit too long. Is loud and foreign and it stretches your lips into a smile. When the laugh dies he stares at you and you shrug “He’s... fun”
“Debatable” cuts Oliver “So is Geroge though, so are a bunch of other people”
“Why are you asking?” you hide your face between your hands, feeling a blush starting to creep up.
“Because I could tell you really fancied him. Like, really fancied him. The way you stared at him...” his smile turns into a short pressed line. There’s guilt in his insistence "And I’m assuming you’ve never talked to him so... I’m just curious”
A short silence stretches between you two but he doesn’t hurry you, letting you search for the right words. You take your time, looking back and within yourself to try to find a plausible way to explain the soul crushing crush you had developed seemingly out of nowhere.
“It’s like... when he enters a room, it feels like he’s setting it on fire” Oliver’s eyes look up, head nodding in understanding “I dont know, one day you stay longer at the common room because he’s there, and you look forward to lunch because you can see him and you get sad the days yo don’t see him at all and... I guess that's it”
“I’m sorry”
“For what?”
“He might have talked to you if I hadn’t eaten it”
You shake your head with a reassuring smile “You just said he got a bunch of other gifts”
“Yeah but he’s not a jerk, he thanks every girl that sends him something”
“So what? He would have said ‘thanks’ and I would’ve frozen in place and just be really awkward and he would have walked away. The end”
“He could have fallen for you” he insists.
You turn to him, face twisting in a sour smile.
“Are you taking the piss right now?”
“No I’m not, just...” Oliver massages his forehead trying to put his reasoing into words, hand passing through his hair and making it stand in an awkward way “He’s not dumb. He’s got a good eye for people” his brown eyes bore into you and you can appreciate how long and many his eyelashes are, they kiss at his skin when he blinks at you “That’s why I think he might have liked you. If he had just talked to you back then”
You become aware of how much the gap between you has closed, his voice while still low and clear in your ears. His knee graces yours under the table and you notice a jolt runs through your body.
“Yeah, well. We’ll never know” you finally say, you voice a bit high pitched “Is not like I still like him, so, stop feeling bad about it. Go back to not knowing I exist and it’ll go away”
You give his shoulder a firendly pat and straighten up in an attempt to keep a bit of distance, his presence suddenly suffocating. You don’t move your knee away though, and neither does he.
“Too late, I’m too aware of your existence”
“Really?”
“You talk a lot” his eyes unconsciously move to your lips, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
“I’m so sorry, should I shut up?”
“Yes, please. I have to finish this parchment if want to get out of here”
“More like you have to start the parchment first, you mean?”
You eye his parchment, completely blank with the exception of a few ink stains. Yours however displayed three written lines that somehow seemed to vary in size and handwritting. McGonagall wouldn’t grade this, right?
“Well, you’ve been distracting me, so...”
“I have been distracting you?” you feign offense, hand at your chest as if hurt.“Mr. Why-Did-You-Like-Fred-Weasley-Two-Years-Ago”
“You keep talking to me about stalking me in the common room and knowing about my crushes, it’s kind of weird” he narrows his eyes at you, accusatorily “I think you might be obsessed with me”
“Well you are... what’s the opposite of obsessed? Like obssesively unaware of someone?”
Oliver pretends to think for a moment, his lips pressed together while trying not to laugh.
“I think that’s just me not caring”
“That’s way harsh, Oliver”
He finally breaks into a smile, bottom lip cuaght between his teeth as he lets the way you say his name ring in his ears.
“Just, let me write my thing” he says, finally peering his eyes away from you. He waves his hand in front of you, facing forward and leaning over his parchment, quill in hand.
For a while you both focus on writting something that resembles an essay. The satisfactory sound of quills scratching the parchment settles in the room only accompained by the soft rustling of your arms moving across the table. Your arms bump together whenever you reach the end of of your parchment, making you look forward to it with every sentence. He sighs once, twice. There’s something on his mind.
“You didn’t say why you were out so late”
His voice interrumpts your train of thought, and you forget where your sentence was going. You frown as you dip the quill in ink.
“Yes I did”
“Yeah but you didn’t say where”
“Dark Lake” you shrug “Thinking”
“About what?”
“I thought you were going to write? Who’s distracting who now?”
“It’s kind of relevant to the topic, so...”
You bit down a smile, your hand slows down as you write another messy line on your essay.
“I was just... I needed some time alone”
“Got a lot on your mind?” he asks quietly, looking at you over his shoulder “Anything bothering you?”
“You are suddenly interested?”
“I am”
“You are doing great progress in the social aspect--”
“Are you alright?”
Your eyes stay on the parchment, your forced cheerful tone still echoing in the room when you fall quiet. You wonder when did he notice, what did you say?
“What are you on about?” you try to scoff but your throat is dry and you choke a bit.
“Well, we keep talking about me. I joked that it’s because you are obsessed with me, which I still stand by” he jokes, aware of how stiff you have become “But I think that... maybe you just don’t want to talk about yourself?”
You wet your lips which feel suddenly dry, your uneven breathing making it worse. You want to clear your throat, try to make your heart go back down to your ribcage, but the silence has become so deafening you don’t want to make a single noise.
“Maybe”
You can feel the weight of his stare on you and you don’t dare to look up. He nods almost imperceptibly, before softly saying:
“Okay”
He doesn’t ask any further, but there is something in the way he looks at you. You give him a small smile, it’s heavy and is honest, and he drags his arm a few inches to bump it softly against yours. He goes back to his essay, falling quiet once again. He can tell you are not writting, your arm not moving, instead still resting dangerously close to his. You can feel the warmth of his proximity, oddly overwhelming despite such a light touch.
“I can tell you anything you want” you say, attempting to get back into conversation.
You find yourself missing the sound of his voice in the silence that you had so desperately seeked refugee in a few hours ago.
“What’s your Quidditch team?” he asks.
“I don’t have one”
“Are you serious?” he turns to you with look of disappointment “That’s unnacceptable”
“I guess I was just waiting for you to join one” you say in a quiet voice, shrugging mischeviously. There is a shift in his eyes “I’m going to buy sweaters and hats with your name on it and have posters in my wall with you in them and I will get into fights at bars to defend you even if you suck”
His hand stills, something soft and unguarded behind his eyes as his gaze holds onto yours for a heartbeat too long.
“Please don’t get into fights at bars for me” his voice comes out in a soft plea, but it’s obvious that he isn’t completely opposed to the idea, he sounds strangely flattered.
“So is everyhting else okay? The sweaters, the posters---”
“Yeah, that’s fine”
Oliver has given up on the essay, looking at you like you are the only thing worth his attention. The weight of it presses down on you, unyielding, eyes darting across your face as if reading you. It’s suffocating and it makes you want to run away, and yet you stay still, anchored on your seat and letting the heat climbing up your neck reach your cheeks.
“Make sure to remember me this time? When you are famous?”
For a moment Oliver remains completelly still, eyes dragging heavy through your features, his lips slightly parted as if he’s about to say something that ultimately remains unspoken. He leans forward and your breath catches on your throat, the warmth in his proximity making the room seem way smaller and the silence much louder, only interrupted by the sound of his bretahing, shaky and short. He stops himself, not really waiting for you to cross the little distance left, but savoring the charged quiet between you two. You haven’t crossed it, but it almost feels like there’s no need for it. Your nose brushes against his almost intentionally, a ghostly caress that lets him know he isn't unwelcome. His eyes come into focus with slight difficulty, and he sucks his bottom lip into his teeth when they met yours.
“Wow, Oliver Wood” you whisper, hot breathing meeting his as he draws in a soft gasp, coming back to his senses.
His eyes shut tightly as he lowers his head, forehead almost resting against your shoulder but not brave enough yet to touch you.
“Shut up” he’s embarrassed, and his words fan against the skin of your neck.
You tilt your head just enough to press your cheek against the his hair.
“We should finish our essays”
“Yeah”
McGonagall had come back into the room two hours later. She was obviously agitated about something, not even bothering to look at your essays as she rushed you out of the classroom. Oliver doesn’t hurry this time, measuring his steps carefully to stay by your side as you walk back to your common room. You feel his hand brush against yours once, twice, making your heart beat so fast you had to sigh multiple times to get some air in.
“Where was your Common Room?” he asks when you are almost in front of the Fat Lady “What house are you in again?”
“Very funny” you push him playfully, hand wrapping around his bicep. It makes you blush how strong he is “Was that going be your first kiss?” you tease.
“Don’t know what you are on about”
He rushes up the last few steps and speaks the password, you can see how pink the tip of his ears are from behind. The Common Room is empty, the darkness welcoming you two home as you step in. You accidentally bump into the armrest of the couch and you hear him snort and hold back a chuckle, hushing you as your giggles reverberate through the room. You both walk to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for one of you to go first.
“I guess I’ll see you around” you say, and you think your voice sounds too loud, or maybe you hate how obvious your are. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind.
“We have Muggles and Herbology together so, can’t miss you”
“I’m not sure of that. You’ve managed to do it for while now”
You say it as a joke, but there is a hint of fear that it might happen. That he might walk into class tomorrow and spare you a small smile and a nod and just continue with what he’s always done.
“It’d be nice to talk again. Preferably out of detention”
“Oh no, but what will we do then?”
“We can study together, properly. Have lunch... walk?”
“Anything else?” he doesn’t catch it right away, not only he sees the way you are looking at him with a teasing smile that is costing you all your courage to give to him. The heat is too much and you deflect “I’m joking”
You look down at your feet, fire prickling at your skin and all over your body.
“Shame” he mutters, eyes lowering and staring straight at you before looking away when you look up at him. He clears his throat and thanks Merlin is so dark in here “Anyways we should go”
“Yeah”
He lets you go first, and you can’t see the way his hands hover behind your back in case that you take a wrong step. The staircase is dark and you both need to keep a hand on the uneven stone wall, meeting one another a few times on your way up.
“Be careful”
He whispers behind you when he hears the way your foot bumps into one of the last steps. You stop walking, making Oliver almost bump into your back. You can hear him draw in a breath about to speak, and you let it out before he can say anything.
“I want to talk to you again”
He doesn’t take long to answer, but it feels like forever. Despite the lack of echo, your words hang in the air, you wonder if you can take them back.
“Me too” Oliver finally says and you realize just how close he is to you. There is the faintets hint of a smile when he says it “I just said it”
“Yeah, well” you shake your head “Nevermind”
“No, tell me” he holds onto your hand when you attempt to keep going up.
“I’m just being weird. Is late”
“I want to know” he gently tugs at your wrist, making you go down the steps until you are in front of him again. You plan on stopping two steps above to leave enough space and stay above him, but he tugs one more time until you are almost touching him, his nose brushing your forehead if he moves too close “I’ve been trying for you to talk to me all night. This is a victory for me”
“I don’t know why I said it” You keep your head down, his touch warm where he’s still lazily holding onto you “Like, maybe you will change your mind. Because this is a bit crazy, isn’t it?”
Maybe is not enough for him to understand, because it takes him a bit to say anything back. You can feel his eyes on you, though, you know he wants you to look back at him but you can’t. Not when you already feel this breathless and bare.
“I actually have practice in three hours” you are so close to his chest you can see it expanding as he breathes in deeply “I know it’s a bit early but it’d be nice if you came to watch”
“Oh... that’s---”
“Too early, I know. It’s better if you rest and sleep”
“Yeah, I should. I’ve got Arithmancy first in the morning”
“Right”
He lets go of your wrist slowly and passes his hand through his hair with an airy chuckle. Your head falls back slightly, enough for you to look at him.
“So I’ll see you in the pitch in three hours”
It takes a few seconds to distinguish his features in the darkness, the proximity of his body almost flushed against yours becoming more overwhelming once you can see him. You feel his nose drag alongside your forehead when you look up at him, his breathing fanning against your face when he finally let’s go of a breath he was holding.
“You don’t have to”
“I know” you shift your weight, and he brings an arm to hover on your side when he feels you move, not really touching you but close enough for you to feel it “But I’m your first fan, I need to set an example” you expect him to laugh at that, to feel his smile on your face, but he doesn’t. He leans down and you feel the light touch of his lips over yours. They are soft but dry, warm and hesitant in the way they set on yours before he steps back. You can barely register the kiss before you are trying to ease the worry you can feel coming from him “Wow, Wood. Again?”
This time he laughs, relieved and light and you know he must have woken someone up by now.
“Shut up”