Author's Note:This was a prompt formed from a lovely anon on tumblr and the wonderful Amy and Sami! It was difficult to write because I had to work with two secondary characters over such a long span of time, but I tried my best. Bear with me – I couldn't figure out if any girl in HP was the same age as Oliver Wood, so I made Katie Bell the same age. I'm suspending reality for a while. Just deal with it. :) Not Rowling!
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Oliver Wood was a man for the game. He always had been. Growing up with a father who helped coach Scotland's national quidditch team, flying seemed a part of his genes. He had gotten his first broom for his second birthday, and even though it only floated less than a meter above the ground, he loved it. He had to be picked up off of it (after his parents caught him, that is) and have the broom taken away just to take a bath or have dinner, and even then, it sat next to his bed, ready for the next ride. After that, he became unstoppable. He worked his way through the kiddie teams and up to the more advanced levels. He had always had good marks in school, but, despite his mother's wants, quidditch always came first. So when his time at Hogwarts began and he was denied a year of flying, he was devastated. There was nothing to do. That's when he first noticed her.
She was in the same house and in all of his classes. She was quiet, like him, only talking to a few people here and there. She never seemed fully present, as though her mind was up in the clouds. He was partnered with him a couple times and he saw she doodles brooms and the quidditch pitch on her notes, just like he did. He remembered the first thing he ever said to her:
"You like brooms?"
He had been mortified. You like brooms? Honestly, that's all he could come up with? He had been so embarrassed by the sheer stupidity of his sentence that he almost missed the first thing she ever said to him:
"Yeah. Do you like brooms too?"
He remembered her smiling at him, her eyes lit up slightly, as if there was a candle flickering behind her hazel eyes.
They hadn't talked much that first year, occasionally mentioning quidditch while they were paired together or sharing a new edition of Quidditch Monthly to look at the new brooms and techniques being performed by famous international players. Then second year came and everything changed.
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They hadn't talked much when school started, and he had pushed almost everything to the back of his mind in preparation for quidditch tryouts. He had walked out to that field so proud only to realize that he was early. Not a single person was there yet, not even the captain of the Gryffindor team. He was elated as he hoped onto his broom and started racing around the field, looping in and out of the hoops, soaring up high just to rocket down in a nosedive and pull up at the last possible second. After a particularly steep dive, he heard clapping. Looking around, he had spotted her, a few meters away, hovering in the air on her broom, her messy brown hair starting to fall from its ponytail.
"Nice dives there. Oliver, right?"
He had grinned and flown closer to talk to her.
"Yeah, Oliver Wood. And you're Katie Bell." She had smiled slightly in response. "What's your position?"
"Chaser. You?"
"Keeper."
"Good," she had said, a dangerous smile playing around her lips. "I would hate to have to crush you in front of everyone."
He had looked down as noise filled the stadium and realized that the rest had arrived, looking up only to see that he was now alone in the air.
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You never forgot your first game.
He remembered shaking as his captain gave them a final speech as they waited to fly out onto the field. He looked up as Charlie Weasley finished and gave him a comforting smile. Oliver had smiled back, though he felt like throwing up. At the sound of the whistle, they had flown out and assumed their positions. He was doing well, making sure no one was getting near the hoops, although they were only about a minute in. He would do fine, he kept telling himself, he'd do just fine. He looked around the field and saw Katie steal the quaffle from an approaching Hufflepuff. She looked up in the midst of her turn and flashed him a bright smile. He smiled back, and, as if in slow motion, saw the smile slide off her face and turn to a look of fear.
"OLIVER! WATCH OUT!"
He felt the pain start at his temple and radiate outwards before everything went black.
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He remembered being drowsy and hearing someone talking to him.
The movement of the wand is the most important part of the spell. The lack of proper wand movement can lead to the spell being cast incorrectly or backfiring.
He struggled to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy. He tried to move but his body felt stuck to the bed he was in. Wait…why was he in a bed? He grunted slightly at the effort of trying to move, and heard a gasp next to him.
"Oliver?"
He knew that voice. He struggled and managed to open his eyes ever so slightly. There she was, sitting next to his bed in what looked like the hospital wing, a heavy book on her lap. She stood up quickly, and he winced slightly at the noise of the book hitting the floor, but was taken aback when he suddenly felt her arms on either side of his, holding him in a somewhat-awkward embrace. She hugged him tightly and he slowly moved his hand to rest against her upper arm. She smiled and pulled back, watching him carefully, worriedly.
"What happened?" he croaked out. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his tongue felt like it had been glued to the roof of his mouth.
"You got hit. By a bludger to the head two minutes into the game. It was awful. You were falling so fast and luckily Madame Hooch slowed you down before you hit the ground. But you were unconscious."
"How long have I been out?"
She hesitated, not looking him in the eye, but instead watching her fingers lightly trace over the bandages that were wrapped around his head.
"Katie," he said as firmly as he could, "how long have I been out?"
"A week," she mumbled.
He stared at her for a moment before letting his head rest heavily against the pillows.
"Bloody hell."
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It was his final match as captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team and he was desperate for a win. Sure, they had won a lot I his past six years on the team and his past two years as captain, but it wasn't enough. They needed to win the House Cup; he needed to win it. His team thought he was getting obsessed with the Cup, but he was just determined. He was just finishing pulling on his robes when he heard familiar voices in the next row of lockers.
"He did play well, honestly, even though we did lose."
"And poor Harry got hurt."
"It was a great catch. And did you see the way his shirt was sticking to him in the rain?"
The sound of three girls' giggles filled his ears. He felt a pull in his stomach and desperately tried to ignore it. That ponce Cedric Diggory had been all those three could talk about. It was aggravating, especially when Katie talked about him. Not that he was jealous. He was just not appreciative of the way they fawned over a member, the captain, no less, of a rival team, a rival team who had slaughtered them. It wasn't right. This was it. This was the last game, and they had to win it.
"Alright team! Time for a talk!"
He rounded the lockers and his eyes immediately locked onto hers. Those hazel eyes he had practically memorized; the left eye had more green and the right eye had specks of blue in it. Those hazel eyes that had that light behind them, that light he saw every time before a game. He knew this is what she loved, just like him. This was their passion. This was their bond.
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He felt it coming. He felt the win approaching as they crept up to sixty points above Slytherin. He was still aching from those two bludgers that had done a number on his stomach, but he ignored it. They had to win. They had to.
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Suddenly, it happened, as if time itself had slowed just for the occasion. He heard the whistle, heard the roar of the crowd, and saw the huge, shining silver House Cup being brought his way. He couldn't help it – he burst into tears of joy. This was it. This was the feeling he wanted to hold onto forever. He locked eyes with Katie and saw a bright burning look in her eyes. She moved her broom closer and leaned in.
"Well done, Oliver."
She leaned in and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. He felt his cheeks burn. He had been wrong. This was the feeling he wanted to hold onto forever.
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He beamed as he flew to the Minister's booth with the rest of the team. Puddlemere United had won their division's cup and were moving onto the semifinals. It was too much. He could barely focus on the Minister's words as he was handed the cup by his teammate. He passed it on, feeling lightheaded. The roar of the crowd was just buzzing in his ears as he tried to focus on what Michaels was saying to him.
"Down to get changed, mate. Good game."
He showered and changed quickly, too full of adrenaline to move at any other speed, and shouted a goodbye to his teammates, who he would be seeing at the after-party that night. He stepped out of the locker room, broom still in hand, glad that there were no ravenous fans wanting an autograph, when he noticed her. It had been two years, two years since he had seen her, but as he looked at her, he remembered everything about her, from the way she liked to tie up her hair to the way they used to argue, her screaming at him for being too in love with the game and him screaming that she didn't love it enough. There she was, leaning against the tunnel wall, that same mischievous smile he had always seen during their quidditch matches or shouting matches.
"Good game, Wood. It was very impressive," she said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
"I try," he said, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "So, were you here to see the game, or was this a clever excuse to see me?"
"Not sure. What do you think?"
As he looked at her, he saw that light, that blazing light behind her eyes he had seen that day they won the House Cup. In that moment, he knew his answer. He strode forward, dropping his broom without any concern for what would happen to it, and caught her in his arms. He held her tight; one arm hooked around her waist as the other hand cradled the back of her neck, and looked into those blazing eyes once more. There was no shock in her expression, no surprise, but simply a knowing smile.
"I think you came for the game," he said with a smile.
He leaned in and kissed her, just like he had wanted to do since their third year, when they had had another one of their rousing fights about which technique was better. She had had this look in her eyes then, and he had known in that moment that she was it. He kissed her, thrilled that she was kissing back just as passionately, and knew that this, this was the moment he wanted to hold onto forever.