NOTE - Tired from the lack of works that meet my far too high expectations and needs, I've decided to write this piece. I do not know whether I'll continue it or not. Just needed something to create and not consume. I'm not a writer, but I aspire to be one, one day.
T/W - Theodore Nott x Slytherin!OC (Athea Vale), possible friends to lovers, angst(?), Theodore's POV (written in 3rd person), Draco, Blaise, Mattheo mentioned, Theodore's late mother mentioned, Half-Italian!Theodore Nott, Theodore's father mentioned, hints of jealousy, itriedtoputsomeouncesofmeaningandhints, Mattheo's love for The Smiths
WORD COUNT - 1.7K
The moment Theodore realised he was beginning to lose memories of his mother came when he caught himself rereading the same paragraph of Il Piacere for the third time, still conflicted about his interpretation. He reached for Italian vocabulary to grasp the meaning of a single phrase —something that would have once come effortlessly to him. There was a time when he had known the language all too well.
A frown settles on his features, his unruly hair only adding to his irritation as he reads it one more time, growing even more annoyed than he already was.
A thud echoes through the room as he snaps the book shut and drops it onto his bed. Silence follows, making it clear that his roommates are either not back yet or have already fallen asleep. One thing he knows for sure is that Riddle is not back from his usual wanderings through the castle.
With half an hour until curfew, he pushes himself off the bed, pulls on his zip-up hoodie, and leaves the room, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. If he didn’t, Blaise and Draco would most definitely complain later about the brightness disturbing their sleep. It’s one of the few things they both have in common — being quite picky about certain things. They call it boundaries, but Mattheo couldn’t care less. “Boundaries, my ass,” he once said. “We share one room. You should grow up.”
The cold air of the Slytherin common room hits his uncovered skin immediately as he makes his way down the stairs toward the exit. His eyes briefly skim over the students scattered across the couches and carpets around the fireplace, not finding the face he is looking for. Letting out an internal sigh, he heads up the spiral staircase toward the main entrance.
All the way to the Room of Requirement, his lungs itch for nicotine and his hand for a cigarette, cursing himself for accepting a bet that forces him to stop smoking until winter break. But the mere thought of having to face the punishment makes him forget his craving for that small stick he smokes. Walk around the castle with nothing but his underwear on? He would rather take the Cruciatus Curse than go out and embarrass himself in front of the whole school.
“I know you think it’s normal for almost everyone at school to know what underwear you wear, but I have different views on that matter,” he told Mattheo, shaking his head. “You’re welcome to do it yourself,” he adds with a small smile, before quickly following up with, “Don’t.”
Mattheo lets out a dramatic sigh.
The door appears even before Theodore rounds the corner, and he slips inside after briefly glancing left and right to make sure no one is watching. Surprisingly, he has been caught by Mrs. Norris far too many times for his liking. Naturally, he has grown his own kind of hatred toward the red-eyed cat.
Inside, he is immediately met by two familiar figures standing in the middle of the room, wands drawn and stances sharp. Opposite Mattheo — who looks far too happy for a man mid-duel stands Athea. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds before shifting to Pansy, who is watching over her friends while lying on the couch.
The duelists seem too distracted by their fight to notice Theodore, but Pansy does, nodding for him to sit down. He spots a book sprawled open beside her and the rather distressed look on his friend’s face, choosing to help her out before she ends up burning the parchment.
“I don’t understand why I would need a Laughing Potion when I can just watch Draco picking a fight with Potter,” she says to Theo, who has just sat down, placing a book on his lap and briefly glancing up to check on the duelists. “Essence of Insanity can be found in my mother’s daily supplements. I don’t even need to learn how to brew it,” she adds, mostly just to vent about her mother, who seems to be getting on Parkinson’s nerves far too often lately.
“When are these two planning on finishing their little fight?” he asks, nodding toward his out-of-breath friends before dipping his quill into the ink.
“Hopefully soon, because I need to finish writing this and get my beauty sleep—”
Her reply is cut off by Theodore, whose usually unreadable face now clearly shows confusion. “You’ve got a new quill?” he suddenly asks.
“Yeah, why?” She looks at him, not quite understanding what the problem is. Yes, she bought a new quill, because, being the materialist she is, she “just had to get the one with the purple-coloured fwooper feather”. And having a few galleons left in her pocket at the end of the Hogsmeade trip didn’t exactly help (or rather, helped) her case.
Theodore sighs, a short-lived wave of disappointment passing through him, before saying, “I charmed the old one to copy from my papers.”
A sudden crashing sound draws both of their attention to the duelists: Mattheo is sprawled on the floor near the wall, while his opponent rushes toward him, her face scrunched in apology. She immediately drops to her knees to inspect whatever damage she might have caused, while he sits up, massaging his back and groaning.
“It worked,” he murmurs through the pain, flashing her his signature smile (a bit irritating and endearing).
“What worked?” Pansy asks before Athea can, glancing down at her friend to make sure he’s generally okay.
Athea’s expression doesn’t soften as she continues checking his limbs, clearly worried. “Merlin, there’s definitely something wrong with you. Why are you still smiling, idiot?”
“You answered it yourself,” Theodore says as he steps in to help his friend up. “Idiot.”
That earns an eye roll from Riddle, who stretches his back to ease the pain. “You were so pissed off it had to come out somehow. I helped you release the tension by baiting you into using your magic properly,” Mattheo announces proudly. He receives a smack on the shoulder from Athea, who now looks annoyed all over again.
“I wasn’t pissed off,” she snaps, brows drawing together. “Just tired—doesn’t matter. I could have seriously hurt you, idiot.” Her voice pitches higher, frustration clear. “You’re okay, right?”
“He’s fine,” Theodore cuts in before Mattheo can answer. “Right?”
He looks at Mattheo, who nods, who nods, but not before throwing him a suspicious look.
Of course, it isn’t enough for Athea to stop worrying. The entire walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, she keeps asking if he’s really okay and insists she’ll buy him something in Hogsmeade on their next trip. Naturally, Mattheo doesn’t turn down the offer of a treat.
Theodore isn’t sure who he’s more irritated with — Pansy, for throwing away her perfectly functional quill; Mattheo, for dragging him out of his warm bed thirty minutes before curfew just so they wouldn’t get caught again; or Athea, who is far too worried about Mattheo for his liking. He’s perfectly fine, isn’t he? Why is she acting like a bloody Hufflepuff, fussing over a grown boy?
He’s also annoyed with himself (though he doesn’t fully admit it), knowing he’s overthinking everything and that Athea is simply being the good friend she is — showing care and concern, something he knows he struggles to express.
Maybe he’s just tired and needs sleep. The first week of school must have taken its toll, especially after spending two months doing absolutely nothing stimulating for his brain: attending his father’s work duties, rarely meeting up with Blaise and Draco, and listening to the Muggle music Mattheo sent him.
Appreciate the music I send you, because the boys are probably one step away from telling the warden I went crazy for befriending an owl. Send my best regards to your father and write me back.
Mattheo Riddle(do you think I should change my surname?)
Theodore pulled a tape player from his trunk after making sure the wards were intact, a sign that his father was still not back. It was Mattheo’s gift for his seventeenth birthday. After discovering that Theodore read Muggle literature, Mattheo had been determined to make his friend fall in love with Muggle music.
It was, of course, dangerous — even deadly, if his father ever caught him consuming anything related to Muggles. But Theodore was careful with timings and charms, making it fairly easy to indulge his new fascination.
Sliding the tape in, he pressed ‘play,’ letting the tunes fill the expanse of his comically large bedroom. He could swear the air itself felt warmer, easier to breathe, as the music curled into every corner. Theo closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the castle: the Slytherin common room, sprawled on the couch opposite the fireplace, listening to whatever gossip the girls had brought today. He pictured Mattheo sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a simple pen tucked behind his ear, quill in hand, hovering over empty parchment, deep in thought. Draco was attempting to squeeze into Pansy’s seat, Blaise standing and ready to leave — he had enough noise at home with all his sisters. Warmth bloomed in Theo’s chest as he imagined Athea laughing at something only she could say, and a small smile tugged at his lips. For exactly four minutes and five seconds, the feeling of dread vanished, leaving all future worries behind.
And if a double-decker bus crashes into us
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us
To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine
Of course, a little later, when his father returned from whatever business occupied his days, the tape player would be tucked far down in the trunk, and Theodore would feel frustration, embarrassment, even, for allowing himself to relax. It was not something he should feel or was entitled to experience, not while aware of the ever-present danger, not while still living with the man who had stripped every trace of happiness from their house, starting with his mother.
L'ansia in lui era verace e l'amore per quella donna era in lui rinato veracemente; ma la espressione verbale e plastica de' sentimenti in lui era sempre così artificiosa, così lontana dalla semplicità e dalla sincerità, che egli ricorreva per abitudine alla preparazione anche ne' più gravi commovimenti dell'animo.*
His anxiety was genuine, and his love for that woman had truly been reborn within him, but the verbal and physical expression of his feelings was always so artificial, so far removed from simplicity and sincerity, that he habitually resorted to preparation even in the most serious emotional moments.
— Il Piacere by Gabriele D'Annunzio, 1889.
*By the way, he was rereading this part, in case you didn't get why I attached a random text. I found this piece quite beautiful; maybe I'll read it too.
valarr targaryen x original martell female character
friends to lovers-ish, platonic perhaps, fluff, everyone is quite happy except they all lowk hate aerion
the red keep was a labyrinth of cold stone and ancient secrets, but today, it felt unusually breathless.
prince valarr targaryen stood upon the serpentine steps, his posture a mirror image of his father’s — shoulders squared, hands clasped loosely behind the small of his back, chin held at a level that suggested authority without the arrogance of a tyrant. at ten and nine, the silver streak of his dark hair was kept strictly groomed, and his doublet, a deep charcoal embroidered with subtle scarlet drakes, spoke of a prince who grew up.
he was his father’s son. he was the heir’s heir. and he was currently fighting the urge to fidget.
"you look as though you’re preparing for a trial by combat, brother," a voice chirped from behind him.
valarr didn’t turn, but a small, disciplined smile tugged at his lips. "and you look as though you’ve just rolled out of a hayloft, matarys. straighten your cloak. the martells are at the gate."
matarys, three years his junior and twice as mischievous, stepped up beside him, lazily tugging at his mantle. "the martells are always at the gate, valarr. every year. it’s a wonder they don’t just keep a permanent suite in the maegor’s holdfast."
"the alliance between the dragon and the sun is the bedrock of our grandfather’s peace," valarr recited, his tone polite but firm. it was a silent judgment — a reminder that matarys should take their duties more seriously.
"aye, and nyla is the bedrock of your sanity," matarys muttered, though he wisely stepped back as the sound of hooves thundered against the cobblestones of the outer ward.
the dornish party arrived not with the slow, plodding dignity of a northern caravan, but with a rush of heat and dust. at the head of the column, flanked by her brothers, was nyla martell.
valarr’s breath caught just for a microsecond before he mastered it.
as a child, nyla had been a whirlwind of limbs and sharp questions, a girl who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of “decorum”. she had spent her annual visits trailing valarr through the library, mocking his serious nature until he’d been forced to hide in the maester’s turrets just for a moment of silence. but the years had smoothed the jagged edges of her defiance.
she dismounted her sand steed with a fluid grace that made the targaryen guardsmen look clumsy. she wasn't wearing the heavy silks of a court lady. she was dressed for the road in light leathers and a flowing dornish wrap of deep orange. when she pulled back her hood, her dark hair was a mess of wind-blown curls, and her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and dancing with an old familiar light locked onto his.
valarr descended the steps.
"lady nyla," he said, his voice a rich, steady baritone. he offered a hand as she approached. "welcome back to the red keep. i trust the kingsroad was kind to you?"
nyla didn't take his hand to be helped, she took it to squeeze it, a firm, grounding grip that smelled of dust and sun-warmed citrus. "the road was long, the inns were drafty, and my brothers haven't stopped arguing about hawks since we crossed the boneway," she said, her voice smoother than he remembered, yet still carrying that rhythmic dornish lilt. "but you, valarr... you look like you’ve been carved from marble since i last saw you. do you ever relax, or would the red keep crumble if you slumped your shoulders?"
valarr felt the familiar slight irritation at her lack of formality in front of the court, which he also loved. he knew she did it to provoke the 'prince' in him, to find the boy underneath.
"the keep is sturdy enough," valarr replied with a faint, knowing smirk. "but my father would certainly have words if i greeted the daughter of dorne like a common stable boy."
"he’d probably just laugh and offer me a cup of wine," nyla countered, stepping closer. the height difference had changed; she had to look up at him now, but she didn't seem the least bit intimidated. "you’ve grown, valarr."
"as have you," he murmured. she was still a fire, but it was a controlled one now.
"martells!"
the greeting was shrill and cut through the air like a blade. from the shadow of the colonnade, aerion emerged, his silver hair shimmering. behind him walked daeron, looking half-awake and already bored.
valarr’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. he loved his cousins, but aerion was a storm he often had to weather.
"the dornish rose has returned to the briar patch," aerion said, his eyes raking over nyla with a look that was far too bold. "tell me, nyla, does the sun truly make the blood run hotter, or is that just a story told to keep us northerners interested?"
nyla didn’t flinch. she turned her head slowly, giving aerion a look of such profound, silent boredom that even valarr felt a pang of vicarious embarrassment for his cousin.
"the sun mostly just makes people sweat, prince aerion," nyla said coolly. "perhaps that’s why you look so... uncomfortable?"
matarys let out a muffled snort. valarr stepped forward, subtly placing himself between nyla and aerion’s sharp gaze.
"my cousins were just leaving for the training yards," valarr said, his tone perfectly polite, though his eyes were steel as they met aerion’s. "weren't you? we wouldn't want to keep the master-at-arms waiting."
aerion lingered for a moment, his smile lingering on nyla a second too long, before he turned on his heel. daeron followed with a sympathetic shrug toward valarr.
once they were out of earshot, valarr turned back to nyla. he felt a sudden, inexplicable need to apologize for his kin, for the court, for the very stone walls that seemed too grey for her.
"forgive him," valarr said softly. "he forgets himself."
"he doesn't," nyla replied, her voice dropping to a private volume meant only for him. "he knows exactly what he’s doing. but don't worry, valarr. i didn't come all this way to let a brightflame singe my skirts." she reached out, her fingers grazing the fine wool of his sleeve. "i came to see my friend. are you still in there, or have you become entirely made of duty?"
valarr looked down at her, the prince’s mask slipping just a fraction. he saw the girl who used to challenge him to races she knew she’d win, and the woman who now saw through his every defense.
"i am still here, nyla," he admitted, a genuine warmth breaking through his reserved exterior. "but you’ll find that duty is a very jealous master."
"then it’s a good thing i’ve always been terrible at sharing," she teased, offering him her arm. "walk me to the gardens? i need to see something that isn't the color of a rainy morning."
valarr nodded, his heart beating a rhythm that felt far more like a martell drum than a targaryen march. "it would be my honor. but first we meet the king."
summary: ever since your first year at Hogwarts you've spent every Christmas break at the castle, and also reluctanctly throwing quaffles at Oliver Wood so he can practice. You don't even like Quidditch, and you don't like each other much either, but it somehow feels like you can't stay away from each other even after spring comes
content: slow burn, reluctant friends to lovers; fake dating ?) kinda; dumber & dumber
an: so the original fic was too long at 27k so I'll have to split it in both parts! the second part will be released next week!
wc: 16k
[part 1]
“Are you free?”
The question had been asked in an almost demanding way. You had looked up from your book, slightly annoyed that even in a practically empty dorm during Christmas break you were still being interrupted. To be fair, it's not like you were reading it; you had been thirty minutes on the same page. The boy was standing behind the couch you were sitting on, a quaffle under his arm and eyes fixed on you as he waited for an answer. You sized him up and down, hoping to remember his name by the time you got back to his face.
“Why?”
He threw the quaffle in the air, almost failed to catch it properly, and did his best to play it cool.
“I need someone to throw at me so I can practise”
You pushed yourself onto your elbows and cranked your neck to look out of the tall window behind you. Contrasted to the inside of the cosy Common Room warmly lit and covered in Christmas decorations, the bleak sunlight that barely managed to push its way through the curtains was anything but inviting.
“It’s freezing outside.”
The boy stayed quiet, his eyes drifting to the window for a single second, then back to you.
“So?”
“Do you even know me?”
He fell silent once more, staring at you like he was trying really hard to remember if he did.
“You are the one who almost tripped during the Sorting Hat thing”
That you had done, and after months you had almost started to stop mortifying yourself over it. You laid back down, propping the book back in front of your face so he couldn't see how badly your face was burning.
"I'll pass, I get cold easily"
"Don't you want to invest in the future of the team?"
"You are not even on the team, you are a first year"
"I'll be one in the future"
“There’ll be no future for you if you go outside now. You’ll freeze to death”
All you heard after that was an indignant sigh, the sound of footsteps over the carpet, and the familiar drag of stone over stone of the Common Room door opening and closing. You let your book drop open over your chest once again, eyes on the ceiling and taking in the silence that had settled back on the room after the brief encounter. Far from going back to the comfort you had been submerged in, you felt yourself become restless. You never really understood why, or maybe you did and didn't want to think much about it, but eventually you walked up to your room, left the book over your bed, and grabbed your things.
When you got to the pitch you had believed it to be empty at first. Thinking back on it you could still recall the scent of grass and pure cold, sharp and almost painful as you breathed it in. A dense fog had settled in the early morning and hadn't dissipated yet, and it made your skin feel unpleasantly damp as you walked through it. It wasn’t until you had looked up that you had seen him flying in circles around the arena, his body cutting through the mist and leaving a faint trail behind him. He stopped when he saw you and dived directly in front of you. Despite miscalculating a bit and almost tripping over his own feet, you couldn't deny you were impressed by his flying. You thought he seemed kind of cool.
“Took you long enough” that comment changed your mind, almost making you turn around “We can do drills now, come on”
“Are we allowed to do this?”
“Don’t worry about it”
He got on his broom and lifted himself from the ground with more ease than you’d have thought, given his rough landing. You got on your own, the cold biting at your fingertips that were already numb as they wrapped around the front of your broomstick. Your mind became busy trying to remember the flying lessons you had taken that past semester, these lessons the very few you had gotten a really good grade on so far.
“I don’t know how to play, though” you said as you managed to fly by his side.
“No worries” he handed you the quaffle, which felt lighter than you had expected in your hands “Just throw this to the rings, past me” He flew a few feet ahead of you and stood in front of one of the big hoops that you had never expected to be that big up-close. Holding the quaffle with only one hand threw you a bit off balance, which you were able to recover from after a brief second of panic “You okay?”
“I’m fine” you lied, wondering if he had heard the pathetic cry you had let out a moment ago. If he had he didn’t comment on it, but judging by how he was flying backwards to where had been hovering a moment ago, you could guess he had.
You threw the quaffle forward, the ball barely making it halfway to Oliver before falling down without much speed nor force. You both watched it plunge onto the ground in complete silence.
“You’re really bad at this” he stated matter-of-factly.
You gripped the shaft of the broom tightly, embarrassed.
“I told you! And shut up, I saw you trip over when you landed!”
“That’s--!” Oliver's nostrils flared with a sharp inhale before exhaling deeply and diving down. He brought the quaffle back to you, his fingertips gracing yours for a split second. The wrinkles drawing the scowl on his face softened for a moment, then he cleared his voice “Let’s just go down”
He started going down and you followed suit, thinking that he had given up all together, but he just set his broom on the ground and waited for you.
“Are we done?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
Oliver shook his head “First I need you to be able to throw a proper quaffle, otherwise you are useless”
“That’s what I said!” and it still annoyed you when he said it.
“So you understand” Oliver measured his steps to stand at a good distance away from you “Try to make it get past me”
You gripped the quaffle with both hands before throwing it again, it barely made it to him, his hands once again catching it with ease.
“Can you throw a little harder?” He passed it to you. You had to admit you refused to throw properly as a form of quiet protest at first, but after being unable to make a good throw even when trying, it started to bother you. It seemed to be getting on his nerves too “Are you taking the piss?” he complained as he gave you back the ball “Come on!”
And at that, with as much strength and frustration as you had, you threw the Quaffle towards him. That one time he caught it with his face. The scowl on your face disappeared the moment you saw him fall backwards with a pained groan. You had run to him, knees digging in the dirt as you knelt by his side as he held his face.
“I’m so sorry!” you cried, hands hovering above his body “Are you alright?”
Oliver let out another prolonged groan, followed for what you thought was a chuckle as he rolled to his side.
“That was a good one” the sight of blood dripping from his nose to his smile made you wince “Throw like that again”
It should have made you feel relieved, just how amused he had sounded at the time, but instead it had scared you greatly. You were sure he had gone insane, and as you dragged him to the Hospital Wing you convinced yourself that it was your fault. Your quaffle had definitely somehow hurt his brain. Eventually you’d come to find out you hadn’t in fact hurt his brain; that’s just how Oliver Wood was, and sadly for you he had just found out that you had a good arm for a chaser.
The next morning you had almost expected him to be waiting for you in the Common Room again, but he wasn’t there. He was however sitting at the table when you entered the Great Hall for breakfast, lazily waving at you, his nose in perfect condition. There was no reason to not sit with him, you thought, given the fact you were the only two people there at the table. It would have been way too run to not sit with him, and so you took the seat opposite of him.
“When did you get here?”
“An hour ago” he answered “I’m an early riser”
“We are on vacation, you know”
“You might be. I’m busy”
Your eyebrow rose sceptically, but he wasn’t really looking at you. His eyes were set on the open sports section of The Prophet that lay on the table, a wet circle forming where he had accidentally rested his pumpkin juice cup a few minutes ago.
“Good for you”
You looked for the plate of toast, finding it near Oliver. When he saw you reaching for it, he handed it in your direction.
“Will you throw at me today?”
“Why would I?”
Oliver moved the plate out of your reach, the scowl you directed his way matching his.
“Oi, be nice”
“You be nice. I already helped you yesterday”
“You broke my nose”
“It wasn’t broken...” you muttered, still ashamed of the whole situation.
“You owe me. And also, do you have anything better to do?” you didn’t, and it bothered you that he seemed to know that “Come on, we are the only ones here” he pleaded, finally handing you the plate, a few pieces of toast falling onto the table as he did.
“What does it matter if I suck at it? You are not going to get any good practice out of me”
“At least it’ll be some practice. Please, it’ll only be until the end of the break”
You had agreed if only so you could have a quiet breakfast and ease the guilt that had been settling within your chest since the day prior. You hadn’t had it, actually, as he had hurried you to finish so you both could go to the pit and start your practice of the day.
That first Christmas there had been a few gifts left at the bottom of your bed from your parents, and one of them was given to you by Oliver himself. It was a piece of parchment with a big scribble in the middle of it.
“Thanks” you took a long look at it, rotating it in your hands a few times “What is it?”
Oliver’s pleased smile had faltered a bit.
“My autograph. For when I’m famous”
“A famous what? Idiot?”
“Quidditch player, you-- give it to me!” he demanded but didn’t really attempt to take it from you. Instead, you handed it to him, which seemed to irritate him even further “Don’t give it back!”
“You just told me to!”
“You are going to keep it!” he protested as he ran up the stairs towards his room, face flushed with indignation.
With only a sacred couple of days before classes started again and students came back to the castle, you had finally gone back to using brooms during practice. It had been going alright, with you even starting to enjoy yourself, even if you’d never let him know that, when Oliver had suddenly stilled. Barely a second later he had plunged against you and dragged you to the ground, underneath the bleachers. He put his hand over your mouth, predicting a complaint.
“Come on” he whispered.
He had grabbed your wrist and quietly got you out of the pit with careful steps. Once you had reached the exit, he had urged you to run towards the castle as quickly as you could. In the open field, however, you were easy to spot, and it soon became obvious what you were running away from: Filch.
“Why is he following us?” you asked, slightly panicked.
“Probably because we are not supposed to fly on our own” answered Oliver, a bit out of breath a few steps ahead of you.
“What?” you hurried just so you could hit his shoulder “You said it was allowed!”
“No, I said not to worry.”
A few insults left your mouth, but you were so out of breath he probably couldn’t make out any of them. As you turned a corner, you were both stopped in your tracks by the familiar sight of McGonagall’s feather hat, making you turn around, but not before she had seen you. You both ran and ran through multiple hallways before Oliver tugged you inside the boys' bathroom. You both entered one of the multiple stalls, and he hushed you again, raising his finger to his lips. You slapped it away.
“I know” you whispered angrily “Why did I do this?” you lamented, your head falling down in distress.
The idea of getting in trouble made your stomach twist and turn. You had made sure to be a good student, not a smart one or a talented one, just proper. There wasn’t much you could excel at, after all. Your heads perked up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by the tip-tap of her shoes against marble floor echoing through the room. You closed your eyes and then heard the door of the stall open, but to your surprise it wasn’t by McGonagall’s hand. Oliver had opened the door and gone outside, closing it behind him and leaving you there. You heard a deep sigh and then the stern tone of reproach of your teacher.
“Mr. Wood. I should have known.” She didn’t sound surprised at all.
“I’m sorry, Professor; I just wanted to practise” he apologized “I don’t have anyone to play with, so I decided to fly on my own.”
McGonagall said nothing for a few seconds, and you unconsciously backed down inside the stall. You were sure she must have heard you. With your heart in your throat, you held your breath until you heard her speak again.
“I’ll be taking twenty points from Gryffindor and five supplementary days of detention once classes resume, Mr. Wood”
Your grip on the broomstick tightened, your eyes shutting tightly as you debated. Then you opened the stall door and they both turned to you. A surprised Oliver shook his head slightly at you, and McGonagall didn’t seem surprised to see you.
“It was also my fault, Professor” you said, your voice quiet and obviously scared. Still, you pushed through it “If I hadn’t played with him, he wouldn’t have been outside. We wouldn’t have been”
“That’s not true! I made her come with me”
“Enough” spoke McGonagall, and you both fell silent under her beady stare “That’ll be ten points then. Three days of detention. And no flying lessons for the first week of the semester”
“What?” protested Oliver, and you tugged at his sleeve to shut him up.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Wood? You already practised enough during the break to make up for it”
When classes resumed, you both had to sit quietly in one corner of the inner patio as everyone else practiced their flying. Madame Hooch didn’t look pleased when she found out she would have to sit her best flyer for the first week of the semester and kept stealing glances at you both when she’d give tips, as if saying it louder would make it easier for Oliver to understand. As if she could teach him something he hadn’t already taught himself. You, in the meantime, were quietly picking at the grass.
“I’m sorry you are missing class because of me” he said “Even if it is your fault” You turned to give him an annoyed look “What? I tried to save you.”
That was true, and every passing day made you feel worse that you had yet to thank him for it. You hoped that your stepping in had made it clear to him.
“It’s okay. I don’t even like this class that much.”
Oliver scoffed.
“You are mad. This is the best class.”
“The best class is no class”
Oliver’s eyebrows rose in agreement.
“Touché”
The rest of that school year you had still helped Oliver practice, even if you hadn’t been able to fly around. A few times he had tried to get you to sneak out in the middle of the night to go down to the pit, and of course you had shoved him away and told him to get lost.
“Do you want to get detention again?”
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Maybe for you! Also, you said you’d only make me help you until classes started again.”
Oliver looked away, brows furrowed.
“Fine, whatever.”
The next day rumor went around that he had gotten caught and given two weeks' detention and cost Gryffindor fifty points. Some people were really mad at him, and others found it particularly amusing. You couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face when you said:
“Told you so”
Your second year had started with hopes of a better time. Peace had lasted about five hours, until Oliver had caught up to you in the Common Room. You had entered the room full of students. The plan was to walk up to your room and go to bed, that was until someone grabbed your hand. It was Oliver, who had reached out for you over the couch he was sitting at.
“Oi. What about a “hello”?
You stared at him, then at his two friends who were watching the scene. It made your cheeks turn red. You hadn’t been sure if he’d have wanted to talk to you after you had served your purpose, and you couldn’t decide whether or not you were happy he was.
“Hello”
You wouldn’t tell him that despite your cold response you had looked forward to run into him at the train, which had not happened. You had spotted him at the table, your head turning away when you had seen him look in your direction.
“Try-outs are next week” he said excitedly, his hand squeezing your wrist for a brief second “You coming?”
“For what?”
He looked confused.
“For chaser, duh”
“I have no interest in playing Quidditch, I told you”
“I thought I had changed your mind”
His friends exchanged a confused glance and broke out into poorly concealed chuckles. An unpleasant tingling feeling started to creep up your neck.
“Not at all” you got out of Oliver’s grip “Good luck, though”
He watched you walk away, brows furrowed and lips slanted.
“Yeah, whatever”
Despite the lack of communication between the two of you on your day-to-day life, you had actually dragged yourself to the Gryffindor try-outs. You weren’t sure if you wanted to wish him luck or if you didn’t want him to see you at all. You didn’t have to decide, though, as he saw you on his way to the rings as he flew past the bleachers. He did a double take, and you gave him an awkward smile and a thumbs up, immediately regretting both actions. When the try-outs had finished, he had flown directly to you, ignoring the instructions to go back to the ground and leave the equipment.
“I thought you didn’t care about Quidditch”
You stood up from your seat.
“I don’t”
“Is that so? Then why are you here?” he teased, a knowing smile plastered on his sweaty face.
You gave him a once over “I just wanted to see how stupid you look in that ridiculous outfit”
Oliver’s cocky smile faded away.
“It’s protective gear! Don’t be rude just because you are worried you’ll suck!”
“Unlike you, I know I suck!”
“I didn’t suck!” He took a moment, then he sounded worried “Wait, did I suck? You don’t think I’ll make the team?” You didn’t say anything as you walked away, even when you heard him call out your name, with multiple people looking at the both of you now “Do I suck?!”
“Welcome back”
That was the first thing Oliver had heard when he woke up in the Hospital Wing, recognizing your voice before his vision had even adjusted. His mouth was dry, but he pushed through so he could ask:
“Did we win?”
“Oliver, you’ve been unconscious for a week.”
“So did we win?”
You wanted to stay serious given the circumstances, but you were relieved he seemed to be back to normal.
“You lost,” you said, as softly as you could.
Oliver’s hands moved to bury his face in them, shaking slightly as they hadn’t moved in days.
“It’s all my fault” he mumbled.
“Sort of... without a keeper, the defence was a bit... lacking” that was a very nice way to hide the two hundred points Ravenclaw had scored from them after he had fallen “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’d have helped much”
You were hoping he’d get mad and throw you one of his familiar sharp looks, but instead he let out a long groan.
“I should have kept a better eye on my blind spots. I’m weak on my left, I know that”
He really was getting worked up right after waking up from a coma. You couldn’t help but crack a smile with a light chuckle. Oliver peeked at you through his fingers, his brows furrowing upon seeing your amused expression.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing, I’m just glad you are fine” You could see Oliver’s face slowly turning red, his eyes darting around the room as if embarrassed. His silence made you nervous, quickly changing your tone “I’m going to miss your silence, though”
“Whatever, what day is it?”
“Tuesday”
Oliver looked out of the window at his side, sunlight cast through the stone floor, reflecting a hundred dust particles that shone under it like distant stars.
“It must be around twelve in the morning”
“It’s four, Oliver” he looked at you out of the corner of his eye “How could I be here if it was twelve on a Tuesd--”
“I got it already!” he protested, and you held back a laugh “That means I got practice today”
He lifted the bedsheets off him, still weak, but with way more strength than you had thought he’d had.
“What are you doing?” You stood up from the chair you’d sat in for the last week, hands in the air as if you were about to tackle him.
”I’ve got practise”
“You need to rest!”
“I’ve already rested for a week, you said!”
“No, you’ve been unconscious for a week! Now you need to rest!”
Madame Pomfrey came to you when she heard the ruckus. She didn’t look very pleased with Oliver.
“He can go” she said with a gesture of the hand.
“What?”
“Thank you”
You stared at Oliver and back at her in shock.
“But-- He just woke up!”
“Oh, he’ll be fine, child” she said without even a look your way as she peeled the bedsheets off the bed Oliver had been resting at with a swift of her wand “I need all the beds after that incident in potions class too”
When you had turned around, you had noticed Oliver was already going through the door of the Hospital Wing. You hurried to follow and catch up to him and continued to follow him down the hallway and towards your Common Room.
“Are you going to keep following me?” he asked, attempting to go faster.
“Maybe I just want to see how you faint again”
He stopped in his tracks, making you trip over your own feet as you did too. He turned slightly towards you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Was it really, like... embarrassing?”
You caught your breath as you wondered what the best course of action was. It was the first time you had seen him make an expression like that.
“No” you lied “No one was looking at you, so no one noticed” Oliver rolled his eyes and started walking with haste again “I was joking! Everyone saw, okay?”
“That’s worse!” he protested, his voice calling the attention of various students that were passing by in the hallway.
“What do you want me to say?!”
“Nothing! Leave me alone!”
“Fine! I don’t have to look after you now that you are awake anyway!” You stopped, and with one last look at the back of his head, you started walking away in the opposite direction. “I liked you more when you were unconscious!”
Oliver turned around with some unsavoury words to say back, but then noticed you weren’t there.
You had sat on the grass for a while before you had started to become restless. Maybe you had been rude, but it is not like he had been very nice either. You had spent all week checking on him, and this is how he treated you after waking up? And yet your foot kept bouncing as you kept wondering where he was. Well, you knew where he was, but the question was what state he was in. What if he fell from a broom again? What if he got hit by a ball again? With a frustrated groan, you stood up from where you sat and started marching towards the pit where the Gryffindor team was practicing. As you scanned the air, you didn’t find him up there, instead you could see him pouting on the bleachers from all the way down on the ground. When you made your way to him, you noticed his broom lying on the bench, he was wearing full gear except for his headset that rested on his lap. He looked up at you with no sign of hostility before looking down again.
“I’ll take it they didn’t let you play” you said as you sat down next to him.
“They said it is for my own good” he answered in an almost mocking way.
“They are right”
He shook his head disapprovingly “Unbelievable”
You took in a deep breath “I fear the day they make you captain” you sighed.
Oliver’s head snapped towards you, and he blinked a few times as he stared at you.
“You think I’ll make captain?” he asked somewhat coyly.
The sudden shift in tone surprised you, and you looked away before he could notice you were happy he wasn’t mad at you anymore.
“I assumed you’d kill them all if they didn’t”
Oliver’s face broke into a smile, the first one you had seen since he had waved at you before his first Quidditch game.
“I’d let myself play”
“That’s what worries me”
A figure made its way to the both of you, heavy boots making the frail wooden floor shake as they stepped into it.
“Still sulking?” the boy had asked Oliver with an easygoing smile.
“No, sir”
“He is”
You were surprised by how well-mannered Oliver had turned almost immediately, but you couldn’t say you blamed him. For a while you had only seen Charlie Weasley from afar, all you had known about him was what Oliver had said to you after he had made the team. Even if you hadn’t heard about how cool he was a thousand times already, the older boy had a strong presence that was hard to ignore up close.
“You know I can’t let you practise today. Next time, okay?”
“But we don’t have practice until Friday!”
“Is that so?” he taunted. He reached behind his head and let his long red hair cascade down his shoulders before tying it again in a messy ponytail. He called you by your name, which made Oliver frown in confusion “Can you do me a favor? Keep an eye on him a bit longer”
“So you are grounding the both of us?”
Charlie roared with laughter, and chuckled timidly, proud that you had gotten it out of him.
“Just for today, okay?”
Charlie got back on his broom and after he had left, Oliver nudged you on the side, maybe a bit too hard.
“How does he know your name?”
You shrugged, recoiling into yourself after a particular gust of wind kissed every bit of exposed skin “He asked for it”
“When?”
“When I was wait--” you bit your tongue “When I visited you while you were out like a light”
“Oh, okay” he looked forward, eyes following the shapes of is teammates as they crossed the sky in a blur “How often did you visit me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze discreetly fell to the way you were twisting your hands in search for warmth and maybe something else.
“Just a few”
He had remained strangely quiet until the time you had stood up and gone to study to the library. He refused when you asked him to come along and proceeded to be in a mood the rest of the day, barely touching his food and going to bed without saying much to you or anyone else. You had sat next to him during Transfiguration, hoping that maybe he’d be in a better mood that day, or at least more talkative. Even if he was annoying.
“Do you want to practise later?” you whispered, a bit scared McGonagall would hear.
Oliver didn’t react much, but you noticed the way his eyebrows rose slightly, barely hiding behind his overgrown bangs.
“Why?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You weren’t sure either.
“Because you couldn’t practice yesterday”
Oliver cracked the faintest of smiles before he looked down at his table again, the smile disappearing.
“Charlie said I shouldn’t force myself until Friday”
“I won’t tell him if you don’t”
You saw the way his eyes turned into crescents, a poorly repressed smile lighting up his face with the same warmth as morning sun. It had been a while since you had gotten on a broom and helped Oliver, even if he sometimes bugged you to do so when no one else entertained him. To be fair, it had been a while since you had got on a broom at all. You were displeased to find out that you had actually missed it and that the activity actually had started to be fun. Charlie Weasley had showed up and called out to you both from the ground, Oliver so shocked he had dropped the Quaffle from up in the air. Charlie caught it effortlessly, his easygoing smile making the tip of your ears feel scalding hot.
“Do you both know how much trouble you could get in for this? ” he asked loud enough for you both to hear him. Despite Oliver disobeying him and Charlie being a prefect, he didn’t seem all that angry.
“Ten points from Gryffindor” you answered.
“And five days detention” added Oliver.
“Come down here” Charlie ordered with a light chuckle. When you both had landed on the ground, he gave you a once-over that made you dizzy and then asked “Do you play?”
“No” said both of you in unison, “she sucks, to be honest” added Oliver.
“We need a seeker on the team. We are at a severe disadvantage just by not having one” explained Charlie, arms crossed across his chest and eyes fixed on you.
“She’s more of a chaser” interjected Oliver “She’s good. Sort of”
“I’m just good at throwing Quaffles at you”
Charlie ignored your banter “What about trying it? This Friday”
Oliver answered before you had time to panic at the idea “Yeah!”
“Hold on, I--” you stammered, the idea of having to fly in front of a bunch of people you didn’t know and watching you fail making your stomach turn.
“Just once, please” pleaded Charlie, and you felt heat creep up all the way from your chest up your cheeks at the gentleness of his stare “If you don’t like it, I won’t force you. Promise”
“Yeah, come on!” nudged Oliver “Your broom’s not too bad”
“We have the same broom”
“Yeah, but mine’s better”
Charlie eyed you both with a smile.
“The team chemistry already looks great. So what do you say? See you there?”
You forced yourself to face him again, not being able to hide yourself behind your banter with Oliver any longer. You nodded timidly.
“Yeah, okay”
“Great!” Charlie celebrated, and he gave you a handshake. His hands were warm and calloused, and the blush rose to the tips of your ears “See you guys there. Make sure to give her a hand with the equipment, okay?”
“Yessir!”
The days leading to practice, Oliver had been around you more than usual and even more enthusiastic, if that was even possible. He had cheerfully followed you to the library and pushed Quidditch books under your nose as you tried to finish your Charms paper. By the time Friday rolled around, you had both had gotten called out during class at least five times daily, detention looming over your heads if you bickered in class one more time.
“This is going to be great” he had repeated for the twenty-fifth time that day.
“I’m going to suck” you kept repeating, your forehead resting against the wooden table you sat at your Herbology lesson.
“Can you stop saying that?” Oliver groaned, displeased by how down you had been acting since you had agreed to join “I mean yes, you will, but you can train. I’ll train you!”
“That sounds like a threat”
“You might be really good, but you won’t know until you try”
You didn’t think it was possible for Oliver to understand what self-doubt was. He was so overconfident it was almost admirable, if it wasn’t because it was first and foremost incredibly annoying.
“What if I’m not?”
“Then keep trying”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Impossible!”
Walking into the changing room felt like stepping into a minefield. Everybody was already inside, moving around and chatting with a familiarity that was foreign to you. You didn’t know where your gear was, where you were supposed to sit, or where you were supposed to place your broom. Charlie had come behind you and stopped all actions in the room to introduce you to the team, strange eyes settling on you and making your blood turn cold. All the way through it you were trying to make out if his hand resting on your shoulder was comforting or making your nervousness worse. He had given you a strong pat on the back and told you to get into the provisional uniform, which you thought was ugly and unflattering and smelled like dirty laundry. Charlie didn’t look bad in it, you thought as you stared at him as you put on your gloves. Oliver stood in front of you, blocking the view and taking one of the gloves from your hand.
“Give them to me”
You gave him a look “I know how to put on gloves”
Oliver looked up at you “Yeah? Because you are doing it wrong” Looking down, you noticed you were in fact trying to put your right glove on your left hand “Just relax, okay?” he said, halfway through annoyed and nervous himself.
You swallowed, your mouth dry “Worried that I’ll embarrass you?”
“I’m more embarrassed about the gloves” he joked, finally managing to help you put the gloves on “Seriously, I don’t understand why you have to be so pessimistic. It’s just practice. Just do it”
“Everything alright?” Charlie had approached you both “I’m going to release the snitch after we start practice and time how long it takes you to catch it. Okay? You have all the time in the world, just go after it when you see it”
He made it sound so easy, and you couldn’t help but smile “Yeah, cool”
Oliver’s arms rose in protest.
“That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Practice was a bit more chaotic than you’d have expected it to be. Everybody flew around, at times so close to you it made you lose a bit of balance. In the background you could hear Charlie yelling orders and the occasional whistle of a bludger passing by you at a speed you weren’t sure was even possible. When you had caught sight of the snitch and attempted to catch it, you had in fact got in the way of one, sending your broom and yourself towards the ground with an embarrassing cry. You didn’t have time to be embarrassed however, the world swallowed into a whirlwind of shapes and colors until your body hit the ground with a blunt pain that spread out through your chest and made it hard to breathe. The entire team had nosedived towards you, and you didn’t notice the pain until someone had asked you:
“Are you okay?”
You coughed a few times, the words scratching at your throat and the shock of the impact flooding your lungs..
“My leg”
Oliver had landed on the ground and discarded his broom unceremoniously before he pushed through his teammates to get to you..
“I’ll take her to Pomfrey” he said as he grabbed your hand and slithered his arm behind your back with the other, liftting you from the ground.
“She can’t walk” Charlie said after seeing how your body recoiled at any attempt of setting your right foot on the ground.
Charlie silently took your from oliver’s grip, his fingers reflexively holding onto he loose fabric of your uniform for a second longer before he let Charlie take you into his arms. Oliver trailed behind you two all the way to the Hospital Wing, guilt sewn on his face.
“You two again!” Madame Pomfrey’s small glassy eyes darted between you and Oliver, veiny time-nicked hands placed at her hips.
Charlie had placed you on the bed, your hands grabbing at the coarse cloth of his uniform with the very little ounces of dignity you had left. He walked away with Madame Pomfrey as she scolded him for bringing yet another injured second-year to her quarters, leaving you and Oliver by yourself.
“This seems familiar” you said with a casual smile that took way too much effort.
“It is not funny” said Oliver, surprisingly serious.
He was standing by you, restless fingers toying with the fabric of his cape and not looking at you. For a moment you thought he was mad at you for falling, that maybe he was embarrassed that you hadn’t lasted barely ten minutes on your broom.
“It wasn’t funny when you were here either” you muttered defensively, throat hot with shame. You missed the way his expression softened “At least I’m awake. I saw you drool, that was funny”
The sentence caught Oliver so off guard he actually laughed out loud. Maybe he wasn’t that mad at you.
“I assume you won’t be our seeker” he eventually said, words slipping through his lips in a downcast whisper.
“Do you want me to be? I just embarrassed myself out there. And everybody saw. I mean it’s fun when it’s the two of us” you muttered before looking away “Kind of. At least no one can see how much I suck then”
“I can see how much you suck”
“I am aware of that!”
Charlie clapped his hands as he approached, interrupting your quarrelling. He sported a small sloped smile, the guilt weighting at the corners of his eyes making your heart sink.
“Okay, so Madame Pomfrey is ready to fix your femur, but talking from experience... it is not going to be pleasant” Fear was apparent on your face, and you could see the guilt tugging at Charlie’s features and dragging them into a frown “Do you want to hold my hand?”
A blush crept up your tear-stained face, and no matter how much you liked the idea, you didn’t really want for Charlie to see you in the state you’d be once Pomfrey got her hands on you.
“I think I should hold Oliver’s, I don’t mind hurting his hand”
You forced a laugh, which Charlie reciprocated with a bit of relief. You expected to see Oliver scowling at you when you turned to stare at him, a witty comeback ready at his lips. Instead he had his palm resignedly hanging in the air, ready for you to hold onto it and eyes lost somewhere in the other corner of the room.
“Are you gonna take it or not?” he complained after you’d been gazing at him for a few seconds “I look stupid like this”
You had spent the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing, getting discharged right in time for dinner. Oliver had stayed by your side, and you had been sure Pomfrey had let you go earlier because she couldn’t deal with your bickering any longer. The next day Oliver had been considerate enough to not ask you to practice with him and had even suggested that you both could do something you wanted to do. After pondering for a second, you had told him you wanted to study, which he had a very understandable reaction to.
“It is not like I want to” you complained too “But my grades are not doing great and for some reason you are smart”
“Studying is not that hard, just read the chapters and that’s it”
“I hate people like you”
“What does that mean?”
You had spent that afternoon sitting in the Common Room studying, taking advantage of the fact that most students above your year were on their trip to Hogsmeade. To your surprise Oliver hadn’t complained much during the study session, and you’d come to find out he was pretty much okay with all subjects. Shortly after the clock had struck four, a group of older students had come through the Fat Lady, their animated chatter breaking the comforting silence and irking you almost immediately. Then you saw Charlie, who, after spotting you both, approached with quick step.
“Here” he handed you a colorful bag full of different candy and shiny wrapping paper “I’m sorry about yesterday. Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt at all.”
You took the bag in your hands, and Oliver didn’t waste any time in taking one of them for himself.
“Oliver tells me you probably won’t be playing with us” He saw your eyes fall down to the ground and immediately tried to ease your guilt “That’s okay, really. You weren’t flying so badly, though, you have good eyes”
Oliver interjected as he unwrapped the candy in his hands. You had forgotten he was sitting right next to you “She got some good reflexes or something”
“I wouldn’t mind trying to play again”
Both Oliver and Charlie had been surprised by your statement, but if they had any opposition to it they hadn’t say. Oliver was ecstatic about the prospects of having a full team, and the idea of seeing Charlie twice a week was enough to make the year pass by in the blink of an eye. That Christmas you didn’t need to stay at Hogwarts, but Oliver said he would be staying over again in a few passing comments. Now that he had made the team, he was allowed to be on the pitch, and he wanted to take advantage of that as much as he could. He hadn’t asked you to stay, not directly at least. He would just repeat how he’d be playing by himself for the upcoming weeks in a loud voice to anyone who wouldn’t ask him if you happened to be around. Little did he know that you had already made up your mind to stay and make him company, even if you wouldn’t admit it to him or even to yourself. There was another reason whoever; the idea that you’d be playing your first official game once Christmas break was over haunted you.
It had been on a slow winter day that you had accompanied Oliver once again on his flying drills. You rested on the grass of the pitch, nightfall falling upon you in shades of violet early in the evening in a sight too beautiful for Oliver and you to not sit and take in. Your gaze fell down at the bleachers, slowly turning around and taking in the sheer enormity of the place.
“This is going to be full of people...”
You felt the familiar pressure on your chest, and you took in a deep, slow breath before your heart started racing all the way up to your throat.
“No one’s going to be looking at you” Oliver interjected, anticipating the mood you were about to get in. Then he fell quiet for a moment “Do you know how many stars there are in the sky?”
“I’m not taking astronomy next year”
“Do you know how many or not?”
Confused at his sudden outburst you turned to him, but he looked away. You shrugged “I don’t know”
“Exactly”
“Are you alright?”
“There are like, a thousand stars in the sky, but you don’t know that because you are never paying attention to them”
Your expression twisted in confusion before you briefly looked up at the sky, now darker and impossibly cold.
“I’m pretty sure there are more than a thousand--”
“What I’m trying to say is” he interrupted with a tad of frustration in his voice. You could tell this was taking a lot of effort from him “Just don’t pay attention to the people. Once you are in the game, you’ll block them out and--”
With a gasp Oliver cut himself out, looking at you for a short moment before looking away again, fingers digging slightly onto the grass.
“...and?”
Oliver bit his bottom teeth, eyes narrowing as if he was debating whether or not he should say whatever it was that was eating at him and making his face turn red.
“Just, look at me and I’ll give you a thumbs up or something if you get nervous. I don’t know”
A soft chilling breeze caressed both of your faces, dragging the smell of winter and freshly cut grass with it. It filled your chest with something familiar, something comforting. Neither of you said anything as you stared at each other for a moment, Oliver’s features so familiar by now you could distinguish them even engulfed in shadows. And after that moment had passed, he stood up with a small grunt and you cleared your throat, strangely overwhelmed.
“You should take astronomy next year” you joked, and you saw Oliver’s jaw ease as his lip stretched into a relieved smile.
Your first game was a loss, not entirely your fault. That was the last game of the season, and the rest of the year passed without much noise.
Things had changed a but on your third year. The Quidditch team had grown a bit: Charlie had brought in Alicia Spinnet as a reserve as well as his twin younger brothers. The last two had been an addition that while welcome had been chaotic, their energy and the tension they brought were hard to match by anyone else. Luckily for all of you, Charlie had enough experience to keep them in check. You had been watching him scold George after practice as you took of your Quidditch boots. His hair had gotten a bit longer during the summer, and you were sure a few more freckles had blossomed over his sun-kissed skin as well.
The first game of the season had been Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff, and that had been the first win you had experienced. It had been a whirlwind of cheers and hands grabbing at your shoulders and arms being passed around them in celebration. Amidst all of it you had seen Oliver’s smile, wide and happier than you had ever seen it like a beacon through the blur of red and gold. Your eyes had met, and for a single moment it felt like time had stilled and the yellow sun become almost blinding as Oliver’s smile widened. As you walked back to the locker room, still carried by adrenaline and euphoria, Charlie had approached you and passed his arm around your shoulders, shaking you playfully.
“Well played kid”
He looked down at you with a smile as bright his hair gleaming under the bright sunlight, and you thanked God that your face was already as flushed as it could be.
“I didn’t catch the snitch”
“Eh, who cares. The other guy caught it at the wrong time, so, it still counts”
Charlie gave you another shake and took off, walking faster to high-five Bailey who was pouring some water over his head. Fred and George Weasley passed by you, turning to you with grins that stretched across their freckled faces.
“You must be so happy” Fred teased, mockery stretching that “so” impossibly thin. They were obviously delighted by the sight of your flustered expression.
You had been looking for a witty comeback when Oliver had spawned next to you, steps heavy and his characteristic scowl drawn on his face.
“Leave her alone!” Oliver said, and you felt yourself wanting to crawl onto the ground.
“You are making it worse!” you hushed him, embarrassed.
His eyes fell to you, now the target of his piercing glare. When had he gotten so tall? “How am I making it worse?”
“I don’t know, it just feels worse” He stared at you for a moment, and then you realized that despite his eyes being set on your face, he wasn’t really looking at you. His lips were pressed in a thin line, gaze scanning your face as if looking for something beyond the surface. Getting nervous under the pressing attention and confused at his serious look, you elbowed him playfully “You do know we won, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Was just thinking about something”
It wasn’t until the animated chatter had died down in the changing room that you had gotten a glimpse of what had been causing Oliver so much turmoil even amidst the celebrations of his first win ever. He had approached Charlie with a stance that while not unusual, had made alarm bells go off in your head.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, shoot”
Charlie had taken off the top part of his uniform, sweater rilling up his torso. The sight distracted you for a few seconds before, to your dismay, Oliver had stood in front of him with a firm stance.
“Why is Alicia on reserve?”
Charlie’s eyebrows sank for a moment before they shoot up again with a casual smile.
“We already have three chasers in the starting roster” he answered plainly.
“But he’s better than Bailey. You should switch them”
While not really loud, it seemed like everybody had been able to tune in into the conversation. The loud chatter had died down slowly, everybody distracted by the conversation taking place at the front of the room. Charlie took a look around the room and breathed in calmly, big arms crossed over his chest.
“Alicia is still learning, and Bailey has been on the team with me since the beginning”
“Then that’s just embarrassing. Four years, and this is as good as he can get?” He protested, “You can’t let sentimentalism get in the way of the Quidditch Cup”
Charlie’s eyes fell on the chaser, whose knuckles cracked in the dead silence of the room. Emeric Bailey was a big guy, bigger than any boy in his year. Or any year for that matter. But Oliver wasn’t one to get scared by that sort of thing. You didn’t know if he was just that brave or if he simply didn’t have any survival instincts.
“You’ve got a problem, Wood?” Bailey stood up, walking menacingly until his tall figure loomed over Oliver who didn’t even flinch. You were by Oliver in only a few steps, not sure of what you were even going to do if the situation were to escalate.
“Yeah” he said to Bailey with a short glance before he turned back to Charlie, his dismissiveness aggravating him “And so should you”
“Emeric” Charlie raised a hand to Bialey, who had gotten dangerously close to Oliver “I understand your concerns, Oliver, but I am the captain” he said with subdued demand.
“Then act like one!”
“Oliver!” You reached for his hand, attempting to make him back up “We just won, can’t you--?”
“Am I wrong?” he turned to the team, his hand escaping your grasp. No one said anything, exchanging awkward glances or staring at the ground under the weight of Oliver’s gaze upon them. He turned to you then, eyes wide and brows furrowed “Am I?”
You took in a sharp breath. Oliver got a bit overwhelming when he got that intense. His eyes searched yours then just as they had done a few minutes before on your way to the changing room, still looking for something you were ignorant to. Oliver turned around with an exasperated groan, bumping Bailey’s shoulder with his on his way out of the room.
Later that night, during dinner, Oliver had sat all the way on the other side of the table, far away from anyone on the Quidditch team. Not like any of them were really looking for him, by then everybody aware of how dangerous it was to get in Oliver’s way when he got in one of his moods. Regardless, you sat next to him.
“I don’t want to talk” he had announced before you had had time sat down on your seat.
“I didn’t say anything yet”
“Yeah, you are good at that”
You sighed deeply, hands dragging across your face.
“What did you want me to say?”
“That I’m right” he said matter-of-factly “You know I am”
“Whether you are or not—”
“I am”
“--you can’t just say something like that in front of everyone! You should have spoken with Charlie in private” Oliver scoffed when you mentioned the name, earning an inquisitive glance from you “What?”
“Of course you are siding with him” he said, voice muffled by his cup of pumpkin juice.
“I’m not siding with him!” you protested, indignant and also confused. It wasn’t like Oliver to doubt Charlie.
“Well, you didn’t side with me either. You just didn’t want Charlie to be mad at you”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
“You know he’s too old for you, right? He’s in sixth grade”
Your mouth hung open a few seconds, completely at a loss for words. You nervously looked around, a few students nearby that had their eyes on you turning away immediately. Your first reaction was one of shock, followed by indignation. You made your best effort to feign ignorance and hoped he couldn’t see the scorching-like blush spreading through your cheeks.
“What are you talking about?” you muttered.
“Charlie” You swallowed, so drily it hurt. Oliver hadn’t noticed your feelings for an entire year, and now he was suddenly calling you out on them “Fred said you fancy him”
“Wh--” you stammered “What does that brain for rocks know?”
“Rocks for brains”
“That’s what I’m saying”
“He said you look at him with a dumb look on your face” Oliver explained drily, that ever-present sternness in his voice rumbling underneath it “I told him you are just dumb”
“I-- whatever. That has nothing to do with the Bailey thing” you tried to steer the conversation back to the original conversation, fighting the urge to simply run away.
“Is that why you joined the team? Because you fancy him?”
Your face snapped towards him, so fast that for a split second he worried it might have hurt you.
“Why are you being such a jerk?”
“Uhm, excuse me, guys.” You were both too absorbed in your argument to notice Alicia Spinnet right away, only turning to her when she had poked Oliver’s shoulder “Sorry to... interrupt? But I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to say thank you for saying I’m good before”
Oliver’s anger seemed to dissipate, if only a bit, enough to not bark at Alicia. You handn’t really taken a good look at her on the three times you had seen her during practice, Quidditch gear famously as unflattering as wearing a paper bag over your head. She still wore her light brown hair in a ponytail whose perfect shape you were sure had to be charmed, and you sort of wished you could ask her for it. She had a longish face with soft, refined features and a few freckles peppered through it, a lovely choice of earrings dangling from her ears with a pleasant chime you remember faintly hearing during practice.
“No bother, you are just really good” Alicia smiled “Is this your first year trying?”
“Yes, I had never tried for the team. Charlie recruited me after a mock game in the yard with some friends”
“He seems to do that a lot” Oliver looked your way “At least this time it worked out”
You had had enough. You stood up from your seat so quickly it made some of the cutlery clatter loudly as your body hit the table.
“You suck”
“No, you suck! That’s why we never win!”
“Piss off!”
The day after, Oliver was already sitting on your shared desk during Charms when you walked in. You gave him a short glance and sat next to him without a word, dragging the chair as far away from him as the desk allowed. He had tried to speak to you right when the professor had walked through the door with a cheerful greeting. Oliver’s impatience had allowed him to last for about ten minutes before he leaned towards you.
“You have no right to be mad at me. Because I’m mad at you”
Your hand stilled in the middle of a sentence.
“Why the hell are you mad at me? Are you dumb?”
“You are dumb!” he looked around warily “You lied to me”
“About what?”
“Charlie?”
“That? Thought you were mad about Bailey. Also, I never lied to you because you never asked”
He observed your quill drag across your parchment, a few spots of dry ink spotting your fingertips.
“Why are you even mad at me?”
“Why?” You finally turned to him, the hand holding your quill resting on the table with a moderately loud thud that made Oliver retract a bit. You looked around and then lowered your voice “You accused me of siding with Charlie just because-- Because I fancy him”
Oliver’s eyes darted nervously around your features, his jaw twitching in a sign of obvious annoyance. He could tell you were upset, maybe more you ever had. He couldn’t remember if you had ever stared at him with such a expression, and for split second it worried him. Still, he was too stubborn.
“You did”
“No, I didn’t!”
Professor Filtchwick interrupted the class to give you a stern warning and you apologized, way too upset to feel any sort of mortification. When your classmates’ heads had turned back towards the front of the class Oliver scooted closer, decided to continue the argument: to win it.
“You were supposed to side with me. I am your friend”
“So why don’t you act like it?” you spat, and you could see the words rippling through him “The point isn’t whether Bailey sucks or not. I don’t like how you just said all that in front of everyone. You need to start thinking about other people before you do stuff like that. How do you think Bailey felt?”
“Like a loser, I s’ppose” he tried to defend his stance, but it was obvious by the way his eyes were fixed on the desk and his hands intertwined that your words were getting to him.
“You are impossible” you simply said after a pause that felt particularly long “I guess I’ll just quit the team too”
Oliver’s head snapped up, eyes scanning your face quickly for any sign of truth. You had already brought your attention back to your book.
“What are you talking about?”
“Since I am also a loser who can’t play”
“I never said that”
“Isn’t that what you meant? When you said Charlie recruiting people didn’t work out” Oliver’s mouth opened and closed a few times.
“That’s-- that’s not what I--”
“Oh, so now you feel bad for me? Well, you can keep it” There was no way for Oliver to miss the anger in your mockery, but it didn’t bother him as much as when your voice became smaller and softer when you said “I already know what you think of me”
“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?” Professor Filtchwick’s voice called from the front of the class, everybody else now silently staring at you.
When he had asked you to change seats you slammed your textbook close and picked up your things, too angry to feel any type of shame.
“With pleasure”
For the next few weeks you had been anything but cold to Oliver. He seemed relieved enough that you were still coming to practice, making multiple attempts to start small conversations with you as if testing the waters.
“You are going fast today”
It wasn’t just you, though. The whole team felt a bit on edge since that confrontation in the changing room, and Charlie’s easygoing charisma was stalling. Bailey became a bit more aggressive during practice, throwing directly at Oliver, who on more than one occasion had lost his temper.
“Oi, watch it!”
“My bad, mate. I’m just really bad at this”
“Guys, come on”
Charlie looked stressed out of his mind. You wished you could say something to him, but there was nothing you could say that would cheer him up. To your surprise, he had been the one to approach you a few days later during your first Hogsmeade trip. At first you had opted not to go, but the day before the trip, as McGonagall had reminded you of the time and place to meet, Oliver had looked over his shoulder at you. He had been doing that a lot since you had changed seats in every class, not like you hadn’t yourself. You had never noticed how you both had naturally come to sit together during every subject, and now that you weren’t the room seemed colder somehow.
“Can I talk to you?” Charlie had asked as he matched your pace down the pebbled road. He had jogged towards you amidst the sea of students, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his jacket and Gryffindor scarf tightly tied around his neck. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he had spawned next to you. He had taken your stunned silence as an affirmative, when in reality you were captivated by the way the snowflakes rested on his hair, catching the light and making them sparkle like diamonds “I was wondering if you could talk to Oliver”
The mention of his name immediately grounded you to reality, the change in your expression not going unnoticed by him.
“I’m not currently talking to him”
“I’m aware. Didn’t want to pry”
“It’s whatever” you shrugged, knowing you couldn’t speak to him about it anyway. Deep down the fact he cared enough to ask was enough for you “What do you want to talk about?”
“About the team. I need him to start focusing on teamwork. We both know he’s not the most... people-sensitive”
“I’m aware. The worst thing is that he doesn’t say these things with malice, he’s just dumb” Charlie had wanted to laugh at that, but he had judged that you were too upset for that to be appropriate “What do you want me to do about it?”
To this he simply shrugged “He listens to you. And you are good with people”
“I’m really not”
“Well, you are better than him. I need someone to keep him in check next year” You had thought about telling him you were planning on quitting, but maybe it wasn’t the best time. Also, you didn’t want to make him sad “Can’t have a captain that doesn’t get along with his team.”
Your heels dig into the ground, stopping you in place like someone had hexed you. A group of fifth years had to walk around you, and Charlie turned around with a knowing smile.
“You are making Oliver captain?”
“Yeah. Should I not?”
You remained silent for a few seconds, for the first time in your life able to hold eye contact with Charlie without feeling your whole body burn up.
“Why?” you finally asked.
“Who else?” He noticed the small smile that you were trying to fight, even if you hated yourself for it. He started walking again “Do me a favour, don’t tell him about it. Just keep an eye on him” he stopped, then turned to you “When he apologises for whatever it is he did to you, that is”
He had then gone inside The Three Broomsticks to meet with his friends, and you had waved him goodbye as you made your way to Honeydukes. The number of students you could see through the window was a tad overwhelming, but you still went inside, not wanting to miss the opportunity to get a few sweets for yourself. At least you knew you wouldn’t run into Oliver there, since he disliked them so vehemently. The door opened with a chime, and after barely taking three steps inside, the sound resonated through the store again.
“What were you talking about with Charlie out there?”
You turned around with a fright, Oliver’s voice so close it had almost felt like he had spoken inside of your mind. He was just way too close. His cheeks and nose were red and bitten by the cold, and he was wearing the trapper hat you had told him multiple times was too big on him. ‘It’ll grow’ he had said, refusing to use a charm to make it fit out of sheer stubbornness. He watched your eyes scan him with familiarity, and he knew you were biting down at least three insults to throw at him.
“Nothing”
You attempted to continue browsing through the store, but he followed behind you. Your silence made him nervous.
“Were you talking about me?”
“Maybe”
You squeezed yourself through a group of older students that didn’t make any effort to let you pass. Oliver pushed through them, earning a few groans.
“Am-- am I getting kicked out, or?”
It was then when the Weasley twins had run into you.
“Look at this” said Fred before he swallowed a candy that made fireworks come out of his ears “Cool, isn’t it?”
“You have to pay for that” you scolded him.
“Come on, loosen up!” he said, still smiling, pushing you playfully.
“Watch it, Weasley,” Oliver warned, standing by your side.
The twins walked away snickering after giving you both a quick glance.
Wait.
You pushed through the crowd, leaving a confused Oliver behind and unable to follow you. When you had reached the twins, they were about to disappear behind a more empty corner of the store. You grab onto one of their sleeves, making him turn towards you.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Oh, you noticed?”
They didn’t seem alarmed. If anything, they looked proud.
“You can’t be here! You’ll get in trouble”
“So...” they exchanged a confused look “Don’t tell on us?”
“I don’t need to! You are in the open”
“No one noticed” said Fred.
“Or they won’t tell” added George.
“How did you even get here?”
“That’s a secret we can’t tell”
“What about Oliver?” you asked.
“What about him?”
“He also saw you”
“Yeah... let’s just say we are not concerned about his deduction skills. So don’t tell him either!”
“Whatever, I don’t care”
“Come on, at least care a little! It’s boring otherwise” protested George “Don’t tell Charlie though”
Fred dramatically put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“We mustn’t, remember?”
“Oh” exclaimed George, matching the level of ridiculousness Fred had set up “True, I’m sorry”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. We are not allowed to mention Charlie to you. Wood’s orders”
You bit your tongue, and not standing their mocking smiles any longer, you simply walked away. Oliver found you again among the sea of students and made his way to you, helped by the width his shoulders had acquired during the previous summer. His hand grabbed onto your arm immediately, as if worried you’d just disappear again.
“Where did you go?”
“Never mind”
He let go of your arm when you had yanked it maybe a bit harder than you had wanted. It hadn’t hurt him necessarily, at least not anywhere visible. You started to push through students again and towards the door with Oliver never losing sight of you until you pushed the wooden door that opened with the familiar chime. The contrast of the warmth indoors and the coldness of the outside made you shudder and you uselessly braced yourself against it.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? I see you talking to Charlie and now the twins?”
You closed your eyes tightly. After all he had said and done, this was what worried him?
“You are not getting kicked out of the team, stupid” you said, and despite how annoyed he was by the insult, you could see relief wash over his face “He’s going to make you captain”
The ever-present scowl on his face vanished and gave place to a blank expression. His lashes fluttered a few times as he walked towards you in some sort of trance.
“What?”
“But he can’t do it unless you stop acting like a total dickhead”
The insult knocked some sense into him “Did he call me a dickhead?”
“No, I am calling you a dickhead. Everyone else thinks you are one too, though”
“Do they? Why?”
“Because you act like one! How can you not know?”
“Well-- Can’t I be honest?”
“You can, but you can also be nicer about it. If you continue to be like this next year, people are going to quit the team because of you!”
Oliver’s lips pursed into a thin line and his brow creased a bit.
“Like you?”
The way he had asked you had managed to disarm you a bit. It hadn’t been a tone of reproach but an honest question that seemed heavy on his lips. His eyes stole a glance at you before going back to the ground where snow piled at your feet. He knew your feet and hands were going to be frozen by the time the trip was over.
“I’m not quitting yet” you muttered.
A small flash of relief gleamed through Oliver’s eyes before his brows pressed on them again.
“Because of Charlie”
You gritted your teeth, sighing deeply.
“Actually? Yeah. Because he’s a good captain, and I don’t want to let him down”
“Because you fancy him” he said through his teeth, so low you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it. He didn’t even seem to want to say it, the words leaving his mouth like they were straining him.
“You know what? Why don’t you think about why I want to quit first? The only reason why I want to quit is because of you!” You walked forward and pushed his shoulder; he barely moved, yet he winced “You always have something mean to say about my flying even though you were the one who made me play!”
Oliver brought his hand where you had pushed him, even though it didn’t hurt him much. His eyes said otherwise.
“I didn’t know it bothered you that much” he said. Far from trying to defend himself, he seemed actually puzzled “What I said”
“Of course it does! And now you accuse me of-- of what? Playing because of Charlie? Because I like him? Okay, I do! You are still the reason why I play so what does that even matter?”
Oliver stayed in stunned silence, his slightly wide eyes boring into yours as he saw you catch your breath. Your hair, shaken by the wind, rested unceremoniously over your flushed face. Your lips, dry and your scarf resting undone almost halfway to the snowed ground. The snow. Just how cold--
“I’m sorry”
Now that you weren’t expecting. Your breathing that had accelerated significantly started heaving on your chest, and your frostbitten fingers that had balled into fists had started to hurt. It wasn’t usual for Oliver to apologize; you were sure you had never heard him do it before. It was obvious to you he actually meant it too, the way his gaze searched into yours for any sign of forgiveness, making the anger quickly dissipate.
“People are staring. Let’s go”
You tugged at his sleeve and started pulling him down the street. For a while you just held onto him, hoping that it’d be enough to let him know it was okay now. Oliver and you were really good at fighting with each other, but you had never had to properly make amends. Eventually you let go, the both of you walking around the street without a destination, arms bumping into each other.
“How am I supposed to know what to say?” he finally asked “To people and stuff”
“I don’t know, Oliver...” You fell silent for a while “Remember when you taught me to throw during first year? You were nice. Sort of”
“Even though you sucked”
“Even though I sucked, yes, exactly” you tried not to smile, but he caught onto it, his shoulders lowering a bit “So what about next time you feel like being brutally honest you think you are talking to first-year-me?”
He took a quick glance at you.
“That might work”
Your last game of the year had been against Slytherin and took place during mid-May. To say that you had been floored would be putting it kindly. Charlie had to say his goodbyes to the team in the changing room and also announced that Oliver would be the captain next year. Oliver had walked up to the front of the room, and despite his imposing presence and perfect stance, you could tell he was nervous, if even just a bit.
“I’ll do my best. I hope some of you can help me be a better captain. I can’t wait to play with you next year. All of you”
Despite how hard you had tried to keep it together, you had found yourself quietly tearing up. You hadn’t wanted to attach yourself much to the team, and in a way you definitely didn’t care as much as other members did, but you had never slacked off. It still made you feel terrible, the loss, and the fact that those people would be having such a hard time now. Did not being as hurt make you a bad person? You certainly seemed to think so, and after one tear fell down, you couldn’t contain the rest. Oliver sat next to you, his weight making the old bench creak loudly.
“I’m sorry” you found yourself saying, voice cracked.
Oliver’s hands halted as he untied his boot, and out of the corner of your eye you saw him looking at you.
“It is not your fault”
You nodded, your throat closing so as to not let a loud cry come out. You inhaled deeply, feeling yourself suffocate.
“I tried hard” you whimpered, and brought your hand up to rub at the bottom of your nose.
Besides you, Oliver felt himself smile.
“I never thought you’d get to care so much about Quidditch” you hid your face behind your hands and finally let out a sob “It’s creepy how happy it makes me to see you cry”
Oliver scooted closer to you and passed his arm over your shoulders, shaking you playfully.
“It was fun” you said behind your hands, your breathing still uneven.
“Yeah, it was...” You felt Oliver’s thumb drawing small circles over your shoulder, and under the circumstances you found it surprisingly soothing “What about you stay a bit longer? Until we find someone”
Fourth year rolled around, and it started with a bang. Oliver had made it very clear that he wanted Alicia Spinnet to be part of the team right away, and alongside her had come Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. Of course, the main star had been none other than Harry Potter, who you’d been more than okay with giving your position to. The team seemed to finally make a bit more sense, and you hated to admit that maybe Oliver’s scouting senses were better than Charlie’s had been. The air around Oliver had shifted somehow, even if he was still the same blunt, big-headed idiot.
He would still orbitate during meals, however there were at least three other people between you two at any given time. The free time you both had spent practicing and letting Oliver chew your ear off about quidditch was now exchanged for watching Gryffindor’s practice from the bleachers. Now as an outsider looking in, it was evident Oliver had changed, the same way a painting can only truly be appreciated when you take a few steps back to observe in its entirety. His stance was taller and if you hadn’t known him so well, ‘imposing’ would have been another way to describe the way he soared through the pitch. His boyish features had hardened, long locks of dark hair framing the sharp edges that now matched the harshness behind his eyes.
You had returned to the common room after a solo study session at the library, the contrast of the silence you’d grown accustomed to against the lively air within the Gryffindor quarters a bit jarring at first. You glanced around the room on your way to your dorm, catching sight of Oliver and Alicia sitting on the couch, a few open notebooks open in the small space between their bodies. You recognized them as Oliver’s game plans; it had been a while since he had asked you for your take on them. Granted, you never really had anything to say, your knowledge on quidditch years behind anything that would be useful to Oliver. You had slowed your walk to the stone staircase, wishing in the back of your mind that he’d catch a glimpse of you and lift his head to call out to you, but he didn’t.
On Wednesday after class Oliver had asked you if you wanted to go with him to Spinwitches during the Hogsmeade trip, and you had had to suppress the genuine surprise it had caused you. Once you were there, though, you realized the whole Quidditch team was coming with. You were walking a few steps behind, watching the way Alicia kept bumping into Oliver’s side as they talked animatedly about something you had no interest in. Your eyes fixated on the way your shoes dug into the soft snow, your skirt swayed by the wind that caressed your legs and chilled them to the bone. You had started to regret wearing it, but that didn’t have much to do with the cold. You heard Alicia laugh and watched her as she bumped her fist against Oliver’s shoulder, the hit surely softened by his padded jacket. The sight made anger seethe in your stomach, not really sure what about it annoyed you so much. Or maybe you did.
Maybe you had started to suspect it.
The store was the same as when you had visited last time. It had become a habit that every Hogsmeade visit Oliver would drag you inside by the scarf. You had complained and whined every single time, but now as he didn’t spare a single look your way to make sure you were coming with, you found yourself missing it.
“Why are you in such a mood?”
You snapped out of it when Oliver had asked you that. You had been browsing the store for ten minutes on your own, much like everyone else, before he had come at you with an attitude.
“What? I’m not”
You had in fact been in a sour mood, but you had done a good job of hiding it. Or so you had thought at the time.
“You’ve been quiet all day... just tagging along and stuff”
“When haven’t I been doing that?” you asked, a bit more defensive than you had wanted “It’s not like you need my opinion for the broom thing. You’ve already decided on it”
Your finger pointed at the broom in his hand, but your eyes betrayed you for a short second as they flickered past him to where Alicia and Angelina were snickering in a corner.
“I could still get your input”
You stared at the broom, then shrugged.
“Yeah, I like it”
“And you wonder why I don’t care about your input”
You felt your jaw tense, a strange feeling coming over you: it was guilt, embarrassment and remorse all mixed into a sour taste in your mouth.
“Maybe I’m in a mood, you are right” you admitted “I’ll cool off. See you later”
You had to stop yourself from wishing he had followed you when you had pushed the heavy wooden door and walked into the busy street. Why did you have to ruin a nice day with your sulking? Why did you have to find fault with your friend enjoying others’ company? Was this the kind of person you wanted to become, or were you just unable to keep your own selfish feelings in check?
For a while you walked around, finally settling on a stone bench on the side of a particularly busy road. The lullaby of animated chatter and the pleasant sound of footsteps burying in the snow comforting enough to calm your accelerated heartbeat, your eyes closing as you basked in the pale winter sun. You took in a deep breath and exhaled, the sharp scent of pure cold filling your lungs. You could stay there for a while, you though. By yourself but not completely alone, that seemed pleasant enough. Your head would turn from time to time, as if you were expecting to see someone. Someone that might have been looking for you. No one like that showed up, though, and you tried not to feel too bad about that. Things might have started to change, and you’d have to be okay with that. Oliver would be busy from then on. Despite his hard-to-deal-with temperament, the truth was he had always been easy to like; after all, you wouldn’t have stuck by his side had it been any other way. You had had your time, but it was time to let him go--
“What do you think you are doing?”
Your eyes fluttered open, your reverie interrupted. A confused Oliver was looming over you, brows furrowed and staring at you like you had lost your mind. He was still holding his broom in his hand, now wrapped in a protective case.
“...Thinking?”
“Hope it is about funeral arrangements because you are going to freeze your arse to death” after a short beat, you snorted out a laugh. His gaze lowered to your exposed legs and the way your skirt rilled up slightly as you sat on the bench, his cheeks burning up despite the crisp wind whistling past you “Don’t laugh! Get up!”
“What?”
“All this cooling off nonsense. Whatever” He grabbed your arm and made you stand up. He stared at you like you had spawned horns “You’ve been acting weird all day”
“Yeah, I guess”
“What’s wrong?”
It’s not like you could tell him you missed him. Even as he stood in front of you, cheeks and nosetip bitten by the cold, tousled hair and chapped lips. Even if you could reach your hand and brush your numb fingertips against his skin, pleading for warmth. Still, you missed him.
“I like being your friend”
The words escaped your lips, the sound of your own voice startling you as they rang through the both of you. Immediately after they had been spoken you had felt nausea and embarrassment clog at the back of your throat. You weren’t unfamiliar with this sort of feeling, the overwhelming brief instances of fondness and need to tell him such things something you were used to. However you had always been able to keep them buried down. Oliver’s expression didn’t change much, but for a small fraction of a second there was something there you hadn’t quite seen before.
“Me too” then it was gone again “What’s going on?”
You shrugged, his sympathetic stare making the regret easier to swallow.
“I’m not sure” you admit, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips “I don’t want to mess up the outing, though. You should go back to the group, I’m going to go have a walk”
“If you want a walk, we can have a walk. I’m not leaving you alone here”
He wouldn’t tell you, and he probably wouldn’t know himself, but he would never leave you by yourself when it was so cold, and you were so alone and looking so pretty on your short skirt and your lumpy mascara.
You both had spent only an hour longer around Hogsmeade, Oliver growing tired of dragging his broom around, when you had both taken one of the first carriages back. By the time you were back, the mood in the Common Room was strangely subdued. There were a few first years doing their homework on the big table, a small group by the windowsill and some sparce students reading in the couch. Oliver and you had opted for sitting on the carpet near the fire. Well, he had insisted in you sitting by the fire while he would keep you company admiring his new broom. For a while you both sat in silence amidst the animated chatter of the room, exchanging a few looks from time to time. It felt strangely calming, warmth coming back to you by the time the Common Room opened followed by the ruckus of the third years and up coming back. Oliver and you exchanged a knowing look, as if you both had been thinking the same thing. It was long until a few people joined you, whatever spell had fallen upon you two broken.
The morning students were appointed to leave the Castle for Christmas break, something had soured the taste of pumpkin pie in your mouth before you could even swallow it.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
You didn’t even know how you had managed to pick on it. Her voice hadn’t been loud, if anything, she had been so quiet you were surprised even Oliver had heard her. He had been sitting a bit away from you on the other side of the table, and yet you somehow had hear her clear as day.
“Sure”
You had subtly looked up, enough to see Alicia nervously brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Could we go somewhere else?”
You felt your stomach drop, the pumpkin pie you had stopped chewing seemed almost suffocating to swallow. You made the mistake of locking eyes with Fred Weasley, who for some reason you wanted to pretend you couldn’t understand, was already staring at you. Oliver stood up from his seat and followed Alicia until they were out of the room. You saw Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell exchanging knowing smiles, and you let your fork hit the table. Fred Weasley sat next to you, his back against the table, taking way more space than he needed.
“Are you goign to stay here?” he asked quietly, the familiar irking hint of mockery still noticeable in his voice.
“Your sweater is touching my food”
“I’d go, personally” he awaited for an answer, but when you said nothing he added “Do you want me to go?” Your face twisted a bit, and Fred’s face lit up as if that was the answer he had been waiting “I’ll go then”
He stood up, and when you protested that just made him start running. Embarrassed but desperate enough, you ran after him, only being able to keep up with him as you caught glimpses of bright red hair before he turned the tall corners of the castle. You finally caught up to him, pressed against a wall as he caught his breath. He brought a finger to his lips as you approached him, and then you started getting nervous again. Fred peeked his head around the corner, and with a bit of fear you stood by his side.
That’s when you became able to hear the small murmur of voices conversing nearby, even if you couldn’t understand what they were saying. You tried to take a look too, but sensing that you might get caught, Fred placed his arm in front of you. He stood away from the corner, bringing you close to him and towards the edge of the corner so you could look without being seen, his head poking above yours with ease. When you got a clear view, all you saw was Alicia’s heels hitting the ground again, her lips parting from Oliver’s. The sight made you take a step back, your back hitting Fred’s chest and making him backtrack as well. Fred’s hands held onto your shoulders and dragged you a few steps back as he rested against the wall. A few seconds later Alicia ran down the hall and past you, a big smile on her face and unaware of your presence. Oliver would pass a bit later, seemingly unfazed and missing both of you on his way back as well.
NOTE - Tired from the lack of works that meet my far too high expectations and needs, I've decided to write this piece. I do not know whether I'll continue it or not. Just needed something to create and not consume. I'm not a writer, but I aspire to be one, one day.
T/W - Theodore Nott x Slytherin!OC (Athea Vale), possible friends to lovers, angst(?), Theodore's POV (written in 3rd person), Draco, Blaise, Mattheo mentioned, Theodore's late mother mentioned, Half-Italian!Theodore Nott, Theodore's father mentioned, hints of jealousy, itriedtoputsomeouncesofmeaningandhints, Mattheo's love for The Smiths
WORD COUNT - 1.7K
The moment when Theodore realised he was starting to lose memories of his mother was when he caught himself rereading one paragraph of Il Piacere for the third time and still feeling conflicted about his interpretation. He caught himself reaching for Italian vocabulary to understand the meaning of a certain phrase. But there was a time when he knew the language all too well. A frown settles on his features, his unruly hair only adding to his irritation as he reads it one more time, growing even more annoyed than he already was.
A thud echoes through the room as he snaps the book shut and drops it onto his bed. Silence follows, making it clear that his roommates are either not back yet or have already fallen asleep. One thing he knows for sure is that Riddle is not back from his usual wanderings through the castle.
With half an hour until curfew, he pushes himself off the bed, pulls on his zip-up hoodie, and leaves the room, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. If he didn’t, Blaise and Draco would most definitely complain later about the brightness disturbing their sleep. It’s one of the few things they both have in common — being quite picky about certain things. They call it boundaries, but Mattheo couldn’t care less. “Boundaries, my ass,” he once said. “We share one room. You should grow up.”
The cold air of the Slytherin common room hits his uncovered skin immediately as he makes his way down the stairs toward the exit. His eyes briefly skim over the students scattered across the couches and carpets around the fireplace, not finding the face he is looking for. Letting out an internal sigh, he heads up the spiral staircase toward the main entrance.
All the way to the Room of Requirement, his lungs itch for nicotine and his hand for a cigarette, cursing himself for accepting a bet that forces him to stop smoking until winter break. But the mere thought of having to face the punishment makes him forget his craving for that small stick he smokes. He would rather take the Cruciatus Curse than go out and embarrass himself in front of the whole school.
“I know you think it’s normal for almost everyone at school to know what underwear you wear, but I have different views on that matter,” he told Mattheo, shaking his head. “You’re welcome to do it yourself,” he adds with a small smile, before quickly following up with, “Don’t.”
Mattheo lets out a dramatic sigh.
The door appears even before Theodore rounds the corner, and he slips inside after briefly glancing left and right to make sure no one is watching. Surprisingly, he has been caught by Mrs. Norris far too many times for his liking. Naturally, he has grown his own kind of hatred toward the red-eyed cat.
Inside, he is immediately met by two familiar figures standing in the middle of the room, wands drawn and stances sharp. Opposite Mattheo — who looks far too happy for a man mid-duel stands Athea. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds before shifting to Pansy, who is watching over her friends while lying on the couch.
The duelists seem too distracted by their fight to notice Theodore, but Pansy does, nodding for him to sit down. He spots a book sprawled open beside her and the rather distressed look on his friend’s face, choosing to help her out before she ends up burning the parchment.
“I don’t understand why I would need a Laughing Potion when I can just watch Draco picking a fight with Potter,” she says to Theo, who has just sat down, placing a book on his lap and briefly glancing up to check on the duelists. “Essence of Insanity can be found in my mother’s daily supplements. I don’t even need to learn how to brew it,” she adds, mostly just to vent about her mother, who seems to be getting on Parkinson’s nerves far too often lately.
“When are these two planning on finishing their little fight?” he asks, nodding toward his out-of-breath friends before dipping his quill into the ink.
“Hopefully soon, because I need to finish writing this and get my beauty sleep—”
Her reply is cut off by Theodore, whose usually unreadable face now clearly shows confusion. “You’ve got a new quill?” he suddenly asks.
“Yeah, why?” She looks at him, not quite understanding what the problem is. Yes, she bought a new quill, because, being the materialist she is, she “just had to get the one with the purple-coloured fwooper feather”. And having a few galleons left in her pocket at the end of the Hogsmeade trip didn’t exactly help (or rather, helped) her case.
Theodore sighs, a short-lived wave of disappointment passing through him, before saying, “I charmed the old one to copy from my papers.”
A sudden crashing sound draws both of their attention to the duelists: Mattheo is sprawled on the floor near the wall, while his opponent rushes toward him, her face scrunched in apology. She immediately drops to her knees to inspect whatever damage she might have caused, while he sits up, massaging his back and groaning.
“It worked,” he murmurs through the pain, flashing her his signature smile (a bit irritating and endearing).
“What worked?” Pansy asks before Athea can, glancing down at her friend to make sure he’s generally okay.
Athea’s expression doesn’t soften as she continues checking his limbs, clearly worried. “Merlin, there’s definitely something wrong with you. Why are you still smiling, idiot?”
“You answered it yourself,” Theodore says as he steps in to help his friend up. “Idiot.”
That earns an eye roll from Riddle, who stretches his back to ease the pain. “You were so pissed off it had to come out somehow. I helped you release the tension by baiting you into using your magic properly,” Mattheo announces proudly. He receives a smack on the shoulder from Athea, who now looks annoyed all over again.
“I wasn’t pissed off,” she snaps, brows drawing together. “Just tired—doesn’t matter. I could have seriously hurt you, idiot.” Her voice pitches higher, frustration clear. “You’re okay, right?”
“He’s fine,” Theodore cuts in before Mattheo can answer. “Right?”
He looks at Mattheo, who nods, who nods, but not before throwing him a suspicious look.
Of course, it isn’t enough for Athea to stop worrying. The entire walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, she keeps asking if he’s really okay and insists she’ll buy him something in Hogsmeade on their next trip. Naturally, Mattheo doesn’t turn down the offer of a treat.
Theodore isn’t sure who he’s more irritated with — Pansy, for throwing away her perfectly functional quill; Mattheo, for dragging him out of his warm bed thirty minutes before curfew just so they wouldn’t get caught again; or Athea, who is far too worried about Mattheo for his liking. He’s perfectly fine, isn’t he? Why is she acting like a bloody Hufflepuff, fussing over a grown boy?
He’s also annoyed with himself (though he doesn’t fully admit it), knowing he’s overthinking everything and that Athea is simply being the good friend she is — showing care and concern, something he knows he struggles to express.
Maybe he’s just tired and needs sleep. The first week of school must have taken its toll, especially after spending two months doing absolutely nothing stimulating for his brain: attending his father’s work duties, rarely meeting up with Blaise and Draco, and listening to the Muggle music Mattheo sent him.
Appreciate the music I send you, because the boys are probably one step away from telling the warden I went crazy for befriending an owl. Send my best regards to your father and write me back.
Mattheo Riddle(do you think I should change my surname?)
Theodore pulled a tape player from his trunk after making sure the wards were intact, a sign that his father was still not back. It was Mattheo’s gift for his seventeenth birthday. After discovering that Theodore read Muggle literature, Mattheo had been determined to make his friend fall in love with Muggle music.
It was, of course, dangerous — even deadly, if his father ever caught him consuming anything related to Muggles. But Theodore was careful with timings and charms, making it fairly easy to indulge his new fascination.
Sliding the tape in, he pressed ‘play,’ letting the tunes fill the expanse of his comically large bedroom. He could swear the air itself felt warmer, easier to breathe, as the music curled into every corner. Theo closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the castle: the Slytherin common room, sprawled on the couch opposite the fireplace, listening to whatever gossip the girls had brought today. He pictured Mattheo sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a simple pen tucked behind his ear, quill in hand, hovering over empty parchment, deep in thought. Draco was attempting to squeeze into Pansy’s seat, Blaise standing and ready to leave — he had enough noise at home with all his sisters. Warmth bloomed in Theo’s chest as he imagined Athea laughing at something only she could say, and a small smile tugged at his lips. For exactly four minutes and five seconds, the feeling of dread vanished, leaving all future worries behind.
And if a double-decker bus crashes into us
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us
To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine
Of course, a little later, when his father returned from whatever business occupied his days, the tape player would be tucked far down in the trunk, and Theodore would feel frustration, embarrassment, even, for allowing himself to relax. It was not something he should feel or was entitled to experience, not while aware of the ever-present danger, not while still living with the man who had stripped every trace of happiness from their house, starting with his mother.
L'ansia in lui era verace e l'amore per quella donna era in lui rinato veracemente; ma la espressione verbale e plastica de' sentimenti in lui era sempre così artificiosa, così lontana dalla semplicità e dalla sincerità, che egli ricorreva per abitudine alla preparazione anche ne' più gravi commovimenti dell'animo.
His anxiety was genuine, and his love for that woman had truly been reborn within him, but the verbal and physical expression of his feelings was always so artificial, so far removed from simplicity and sincerity, that he habitually resorted to preparation even in the most serious emotional moments.
— Il Piacere by Gabriele D'Annunzio, 1889.
By the way, he was rereading this part, in case you didn't get why I attached a random text. Found this piece quite beautiful, maybe I'll read it even.
Excited for you to read it! Now that I’m rereading this after a few days, I see some gaps and things that don’t make sense to me. Lesson learned, chapters need to sit out some time in the drafts😃
hi!!!! I’m sorry that this is a little late but I wanted to take the time to write out as meaningful of a response as that reply you left on my stuck with u fic. That was probably literally the sweets most touching comment I’ve ever gotten on my fics 😭😭😭 I know literally everyone says this but the biggest gift a writer can get is someone appreciating their work and it was so unbelievably kind of you to leave that comment 💕💕 at least in my experience writing anywhere (be it ao3/tumblr) can very quickly turn into a numbers game of which fic can get the highest number of notes etc but its comments like yours that remind me why im even writing in the first place, for the FUN of it before anything else! So once again thank you so SO much for that reply ilsymmmm bestie mwah 🫶🫶🥹🙈🙈🙈🙈💕
I was a writer once when I was 14(?), so I kind of know how important it is to let the writer know how much their work matters🙏🏻❤️
i need a fic of theo nott with A LOT of angst, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers jealousy sad lot of fighting miscommunication but they're so in love it just HURTS. happy ending tho
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