He was one of those people that had to belong somewhere; he had to be incorporated into something because otherwise he had little purpose in the world. He wasn't one of those people that could 'fly-solo' which would come as a shock to many people. Despite contrary belief he liked being part of a unit because it gave him direction, aims and goals… It gave him a feeling of purpose and that's all he ever wanted in his life.
That's why he clung onto his burgundy robes, refusing to shed them, because as soon as he did there went his unit. If he discarded the robes he was officially marring the sign he'd proudly sported for 7 years and marking himself as a 'free-lancer'. He wasn't quite sure whether he was ready or not.
All his life he had been searching for somewhere to go and be part of the family and he'd discovered the Quidditch pitch along with it. The pitch had provided him with the Gryffindor team, the group that he'd just merged with and since then he'd never had a single doubt about his purpose in the world- it was plain as writing on the parchment- he was there to lead them to victory. It had only just occurred to him that he had to part with these people and seriously, he didn't want to.
If others heard this coming from their Captain (well, ex-captain as his successor had been named) they'd be truly disheartened. They saw him as the leader that was brave and proud, they wouldn't be able to cope if they saw him as a person that needed others to function and support him. He could never figure out where this fear and need had spanned from, he had an idea that it was from his parents. Even though they were loving, they gave their son no direction and he'd always felt they were ashamed he wasn't doing better. Perhaps that was why he had to have aims now, so he couldn't disappoint anyone; that was a little hyper-perfectionist.
He remained on the pitch despite the fact that he knew the rest of the team were probably wondering where he'd gotten to whilst celebrating their victory. They wouldn't come looking for him, he could be assured of that, so he was left to savour the last few moments as part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the last few moments walking on the grass where so many memories were made. He clutched his broom to his chest, smiling slightly as all the feelings rushed back to him enticing all his senses with their glorious fever. He was going to miss it.
He wondered whether he'd end up in a new unit that appreciated Quidditch as much as he did, he wondered whether he'd ever get to play the game again and he wondered just exactly where he was going to be a in a years time. He knew now was the time to move onto bigger plains, but he couldn't help but think about all the things that could go wrong and all the things that could happen. One question echoed within his mind though; what was he going to do now?
He knew there was going to be an interlude where he'd not be part of the Gryffindor family and he wouldn't know where he was going, so he'd be wondering along aimlessly. The concept of being lost without direction irritated him, but more than that, scared him. He didn't think he could deal with weeks where things would be unknown- his nerves were shot enough without that adding to it.
Wood knew that there were some people that enjoyed life in the unknown because it gave them a thrill. He didn't need those thrills though; all he needed was the thrill of flying and then the comfort of having a group waiting for his appearance… That's what life was all about to him. As simplistic and as strange as it sounded coming from him, that's how he liked to function.
"I didn't expect to find you out here."
Oliver recognised the voice immediately, it wasn't as if he hadn't heard the snide comments enough times. In the shadows he could just about make out the unmistakable broad frame of Marcus Flint, a sliver of his face illuminated by the moonlight. For a split-second his heart stopped, but he pushed that ridiculous idea aside quickly because there was no way he was relieved to see his mortal enemy. No, he was angry that he was intruding on his last moments revelling in the sensations of the pitch.
"I thought you'd be off licking your wounds." He retorted immediately, smug as always, somehow Flint always brought out that side of the Keeper.
"It doesn't matter anymore, it's not my problem." Flint shrugged nonchalant and stepped out of the shadows, smirking slightly. "It's whoever is taking over the reigns."
"Doesn't it even matter to you?" Oliver asked, wondering since when Flint didn't care about Quidditch, after all that was what their lives were about. "I mean, you lost." Emphasis on the you, he wanted a rise, perhaps it would remind him that for a few more minutes he was part of the Gryffindor family.
"Shut it Wood." He snarled, but there seemed to be mirth hidden in there somewhere and Oliver couldn't understand. Wasn't Flint scared about leaving it all behind? "Missing your precious team already?"
At that point the Captain inside would roll his eyes and say something along the lines of 'bigger and better things' but he's not the Captain, he's just Oliver and Oliver didn't have defences and instead he nods and Flint looks shocked for a moment considering the boy in front of him and Wood wonders what he's thinking.
"Why?"
"I don't want to go," He admits, a little ashamed and so he looks to his feet and away from the Slytherin who always seemed stronger in so many ways. He was so absorbed with what his feet were like he didn't notice that Flint had emerged from the shadows and was seriously considering him, probably wondering where his rival had gone and left this vulnerable person behind.
"Why?"
"It sounds stupid." He mumbled, his gaze still averted, he only looked up when he could feel Flints' gaze piercing his skin and was surprised to come face to face with the green eyes belonging to the other, he could feel the warmth and the comfort that he had- and Oliver had to restrain himself from reaching out and latching on. Instead he heaved a sigh that echoed in the silence.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know where I belong anymore!" He screeched and Flint didn't even seem phased by the others sudden outburst. "Sorry."
"I don't get you." Flint shook his head, frowning.
"You don't have to."
"But I want to."
And that sounded sincere and foreign in his mind; he'd only heard that within the units and families he'd found himself in. Flint wasn't meant to say something like that because Marcus Flint wasn't someone that should even care where he went or what he did. Marcus Flint shouldn't be closing the gap between them and neither should Oliver actually want him to.
No, with Flint wasn't where he belonged.
But before he could even think about tearing out of there, he could feel Flint's lips upon his own, tender and soft, caring and reassuring and Oliver was sure he wasn't meant to wrap his arms around the elder, nor was he meant to part his lips and let their tongues meet.
At that moment he realised that he wasn't afraid of loosing the Gryffindor team, nor was he afraid of not belonging to Hogwarts anymore… He was afraid of never being able to belong in someone's arms as much as he felt he belonged in Marcus's.
But he knew that no matter what, they'd belong together.