Hello everyone! Dogsrock101 here. I haven't posted in this fandom since I finished my Marauders fic a year and a half ago. Pretty excited be writing another HP fic! Originally this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but...I got a little carried away. I will warn you now that I am pretty bad when it comes to updating - I try to do it once a month, but sometimes life gets in the way. I'm hoping this story will be 10 chapters max, but like I said earlier, I do tend to get a little carried away...What can I say? I can't let a story hanging when inspiration hits.
Enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome :)
"We better not get detention for this," grumbled Alicia darkly. Dressed in her Quidditch uniform and tracking mud with her every step, she walked alongside her team in the dark corridors. It was past curfew and all the students were back in their dorms. Except for them, that was.
"If we do, Wood oughta take full responsibility," Fred said brightly. Unlike Alicia, he wasn't worried about receiving detention; he and George were immune to them. "You are, after all, our Captain."
"It's your duty to take responsibility for your team," quipped George.
"It is your fault we're coming in after curfew," Angelina pointed out.
"'Lright, I get it!" Oliver growled, glaring at his teammates. "I lost track of time! I'm sorry, okay?"
Alicia rolled her eyes and huffed irritably. Katie shook her head and patted her on the shoulder.
"It's okay, Oliver," smiled Harry. "We know how you can get…" He struggled to find the appropriate word. "Caught up during practice sometimes."
The team exchanged looks. "Caught up?" scoffed Fred incredulously. "That's putting it nicely."
Oliver scowled. Before he had a chance to retort, however, a shout of "Who's there?" from down the corridor made him clamp his mouth shut. The team looked at each other, horrified.
"Go!" hissed Wood, shooing his teammates away. They stared at him, appalled. They'd only been joking earlier about having him take the blame; they couldn't possibly leave him behind. The team always had to stick together.
"But Oliver–!" Katie started.
"I'm taking full responsibility for this," he replied, pushing her away. "Go on, now." His firm tone became somewhat panicked as he explained, "Imagine if he gives all of us detention on the day of the game!"
Of course that's what he was worried about. He wasn't worried about receiving detention; he was worried about losing the game. His teammates then understood that the best thing for them to do was to follow Oliver's orders. That was what they always did, after all, wasn't it? The Quidditch Captain may have been a bit mad, but he always had some form of logic and reasoning behind his plays.
"We owe you one, mate!" George clamped Oliver on the shoulder, grinning. Fred winked and blew him a kiss goodbye before the team turned tail and ran down the corridor to their right. Oliver sighed, watching them leave with both a sense of relief and loss. He wasn't particularly excited about receiving detention, but there'd be a much better chance of Gryffindor beating Slytherin if he was the only one missing out on the game.
He turned his attention to the figure who was quickly approaching him. A handsome face with wavy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes greeted him. Oliver didn't know whether or not he should be grateful that it had been Lockhart who'd caught him.
"Mr. Wood!" Lockhart said in surprise. "What're you doing up past curfew?" He paused, his bright blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I thought I heard voices. Are there more of you?" He glanced around himself. But the other Gryffindors were long gone; only Oliver stood before him.
"I was talking to Nearly Headless Nick, sir," Oliver lied. He was rather surprised at himself for being able to come up with the lie so quickly. He supposed Fred and George had been rubbing off on him. "He was lecturing me on wandering the corridors past curfew."
"And with good reason!" huffed Lockhart, placing a hand on his hip. "You do know it is against school policy to stay up past curfew?"
"Aye, sir. I'm sorry." He scratched the back of his head, trying to appear sheepish. "I'd lost track of time during practice."
Lockhart lowered his wand and grimaced at Oliver's mud-caked uniform. "That's no excuse, Mr. Wood. You ought to know better than this! What kind of example are you setting for the First Years?"
He shrugged. "Well, seeing that none of them are up to bear witness to this, I wouldn't say I'm setting any sort of example."
The new professor's handsome face scrunched into a scowl. "Don't get smart with me, young man! I may be new here, but I am still your professor, and I expect to be treated as such!"
Wood resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe if you actually knew what the ruddy hell you were doing with your wand I would.
"Is there a problem here?" an Irish lilt entered the conversation. For a brief second Oliver thought his worst fears had come true; he thought the voice belonged to his Head of House. But it wasn't McGonagall's green robes or pointy hat that approached him. Blue and bronze robes swished along the floor and a Headgirl badge shined at him. As the illuminated wand rose, it revealed the face of its owner. A fair-faced Cara McDouglas blinked her grey eyes at him. The freckles across her nose and cheeks were especially visible in the light of her wand.
Oliver gritted his teeth. He'd thought McGonagall would be bad, but McDouglas? She was even worse.
Oliver and McDouglas had notoriously been at each other's throats since his First Year. They'd never seen eye-to-eye. Ever since the lass had called Quidditch 'dull and overrated', he'd termed her as an enemy. She was the only witch he'd met who didn't like Quidditch, and perhaps he would've respected that if she didn't bash on the sport so much. He remembered the time they had nearly set the library on fire after a particular row they'd had. Though, in retrospect, that had been his fault. He'd been blabbing about Quidditch in the library while, on the other side of the bookshelf, she'd been studying for her O.W.L.s. After he'd taken them himself, he understood now why she'd been so stressed and easily irritable that day.
Still, her personality wasn't particularly pleasing. She may have been pretty and smart (some even called her "charming" for reasons he couldn't fathom to understand), but Oliver knew there was more to her than appeared on the surface. She was arrogant and stubborn and had a stick up her wound-up arse. It was no wonder that Percy Weasely had had the goo-goo eyes for her since First Year. They were a match made in heaven.
"Miss. McDouglas!" greeted Lockhart in surprise. Oliver couldn't help but notice that the professor seemed to brighten up excitedly. "What're you doing out in the corridors alone?"
She crinkled her brows in confusion. "Patrolling, of course, sir."
"It's dangerous, my dear, to be patrolling on your own." He waggled a finger at her playfully. "After that…message left on the walls the other night" – He shivered – "we need to be especially vigilant." He paused, and Oliver didn't like the mischief that flickered in the professor's eyes. "I'd be more than happy to patrol the corridors with you."
Oliver didn't know whether to laugh or puke.
She smiled tightly. "As much as I would enjoy that, sir, I'm afraid that would be a little unfair to Hilliard, don't you think?" She chuckled. "Usually we patrol together, but the poor lad's not feeling well tonight."
"Ah, yes, of course." There was no hiding the disappointment in Lockhart's voice. "Well, should you ever require any assistance, don't hesitate to reach out to me."
She smiled sweetly. Oliver supposed he couldn't blame the professor for his blatant flirtations; she looked rather like an angel. "Thank you, Professor. That is very kind of you to offer."
Oliver cleared his throat loudly. He didn't think he could handle another moment of this shite. Lockhart jumped in surprise and stared at Wood as if seeing him for the first time. McDouglas, however, maintained her cool.
"Erm, yes, Mr. Wood." Lockhart ran his fingers through his fluffy blonde hair. "I believe a detention is in order for you."
"Actually, Professor," quipped McDouglas. "Would it be alright if I issue the detention to him? I have just the thing for him."
Oliver glared at her and bit hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cursing at her.
Lockhart, being the gentleman he was, was most eager to please her. "Why, of course! I trust you will find a most suitable punishment for him."
She smirked. "Indeed I shall." She took Oliver by the arm. "Come along, Wood, we have much to discuss."
She practically dragged the Scotsman off, rounding the corner after a hasty good night to Lockhart.
"Ouch, lass, easy on the arm!" Oliver cried out, trying to yank himself from her grip. The Irish lass had a surprisingly ironclad grip from which he could not escape. She said nothing as they rounded another corner. She glanced over her shoulder before opening the door to an empty classroom on their right. Once they entered, she finally released her grip on him. He scowled and rubbed his arm. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Are you going to make me write lines until daybreak?"
She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Don't get your kilt in a knot. Really, you can be such a drama queen."
He glared at her. "Then what are we doing here?"
"Hiding from Lockhart," she replied matter-of-factedly. "You were just my excuse to get away." She glanced out the window of the door, as if expecting him to pop out at any second.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Hiding from him?"
"You saw the way the bloke was drooling over me." Aye, cue the vanity. She turned to him, folding her arms across her chest. "You better not start any rumors, Wood. The last thing I need is my hard-earned reputation getting ruined during my last year here due to some supposed 'scandal'." She paused. "Honestly, I'm surprised the rumors haven't started already. He makes it quite obvious during class that he fancies me."
Oliver grimaced. He could just imagine Lockhart casually winking at her during class. "And you don't fancy him? I could name a dozen girls who would do anything to be in your place." He recalled the giggling Sixth Year girls in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
She crinkled her nose in disgust. "The man's got a good ten years on me. He may be good-looking, but his brain is the size of a Knut while his ego's the size of a Hippogriff. He's bloody pathetic, he is. I swear, even a First Year can do better magic than him."
She may have had bad taste in sports, but at least she knew what she was talking about when it came to men. Oliver found it refreshing to finally find a girl who wasn't starry-eyed over their new professor. "Why don't you just tell him you're not interested?"
She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Did you get hit in the head with a Bludger when you were a baby or something? Is that why you're so dense and Quidditch-obsessed?"
He glared at her. "Make your point."
She sighed. "First off, if I told him I wasn't interested, he would probably deny fancying me in the first place. Or he would think that I was doing it to protect him, or some shite like that, because he couldn't possibly imagine a woman not being interested in him. Either way, nothing would change. If anything, he might even try harder."
"You've put some thought into this, haven't you?"
She rolled her eyes again. "Of course I have. I've been trying to get out of this situation since the first week of classes." Sighing, she ran her fingers tiredly through her strawberry blonde hair. She slumped into an empty chair. "I don't know what to do, other than hope he gives up. But knowing him, I doubt he ever will."
Oliver took a sat across from her. "Why don't you tell Flitwick, then? He's your Head of House, he should be able to do something about this."
"It's my word against a professor's." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think he'd believe me?"
"Aye, I do, actually." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Flitwick knows you well. Lockhart has a reputation, too. I'm sure he could help you out."
She hesitated, kicking at the floor. "I dunno."
"The longer you wait, the worse it's going to get," he put bluntly.
She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. "'Lright, let's say I tell Flitwick and he puts an end to this. Lockhart would hate me and give me bad grades in return. He'd probably take points off Ravenclaw and give me detention and that nonsense, but it's my grades that concern me. I've worked too damn hard for them these seven years to let some blonde maggot ruin all my hard work."
"Maybe he'll get sacked," offered Oliver. "Surely it's against school rules for a professor to get involved with a student."
"The thing is, he's only flirted with me. He hasn't actually done anything, y'know?" She shrugged. "I feel like he'd be written off with a warning and that would be the end of it. Though I wish he would get sacked," she added. "Besides, I hear they've been having difficulty recruiting for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. The last thing Dumbledore needs is to find another professor to fill Lockhart's spot."
Oliver sighed. "You can't keep making these excuses. You need to tell someone."
"I'm telling you, aren't I?" she quipped smartly. He rolled his eyes.
"Someone with authority," he clarified.
"I think the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain has quite a bit of authority," she sniffed. "You're a celebrity 'round these parts."
He didn't know whether to scowl or sigh. "McDouglas, this is serious."
Her eyes flashed angrily. "I am being serious." She stood abruptly. "I can handle myself. I don't need a professor's intervention or a Gryffindor's advice. Now, I suggest you head back to your Common Room. I'll let you off this one time, as long as you promise not to advertise it. I do have a reputation to uphold." She stuck her nose in the air.
"We're not done here," argued Oliver, standing up as well. "You can't brush aside this issue. What Lockhart's doing is harassment, and you can't ignore that."
"And what're you going to do about it?" she sneered unattractively. "You Gryffindors always have to play the part of the hero, don't you? Let me tell you, Wood, this Ravenclaw is no damsel in distress and you are most certainly no knight in shining armor." She eyed his muddy uniform distastefully. "Now, before I change my mind about giving you detention, I bid you good night." Her tone was one of finality. She turned her back on him and swept out of the classroom without a backwards glance.
Oliver sighed and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. "Damn Ravenclaws," he muttered. "They always think they can figure out problems on their own."