A/N: A series of drabbles from a line or lines of dialogue prompted by fellow author chocolate fish. I haven't written in this fandom for years, so bear with me there. Chocolate fish also gave me the pairing, which I'm now in love with. Sorry it's taken me so long to post them, but here are the first few!
Today's line: "Seriously, stop calling me fucking Daisy!"
Puddlemere United beat the Donegal Dragons by two hundred points to one hundred and seventy.
The game lasted for nine hours and by the time they touch down onto the grass, dry and crackly from the incessant heat, Oliver Wood knows with some certainty that if he doesn't get a good stiff cold drink into him possibly an hour ago he night very well die.
It was one of those beautiful but terrible affairs where the teams' Chasers were so perfectly matched that he hadn't been able to look away for a second. It had become apparent early on, modesty aside, that Oliver held an advantage against the older and slower opposing Keeper, but they'd needed it; the Dragons' Seeker is world class. Oliver's seen him play to the finals of the World Cup more than once for the Irish National Quidditch Team.
It takes another few hours before he's had enough chilled apple-cider to lower his temperature back to the tolerable. He's on his way back to the table he's been sharing with the two Puddlemere Beaters when somebody totters into him with a high-pitched squeal of 'ooh!" and spills some kind of Muggle dark beer down his trousers.
The cider's made him feel pleasantly good-humoured, so he doesn't yell at the dark-eyed brunette now sitting at his feet staring forlornly into her half-empty pint glass. He's about to offer her a hand up when someone else does it for him, a broad and masculine appendage with callouses from a broomstick shoved into Oliver's line of sight. "Sorry," a smooth Irish lilt soothes into his ear.
Up close, Aidan Lynch is a familiar face. His blond hair is longer than it was at school, sweeping neatly just off his grey-blue eyes, but he's still plainly recognisable as the only boy who had smiled at Oliver when shaking his hand before his first-ever inter-House Quidditch match. He suddenly can't remember whether he smiled back.
He smiles now, as though that could somehow make up for it, and helps the lithe Seeker pick up his teammate from the pub floor. The Chaser, Katie – Oliver remembers her name because she reminds him of Katie Bell – stumbles to her feet and collapses over Lynch's shoulder. "She doesn't drink very often," he apologises for her, smiling at Oliver before flagging down a passing teammate, ignoring what sounds like a muffled shut up, Daisy from the mouth at his shoulder. "Hey, Dylan, help me with her, would you?"
Dylan McGahn grins at the two of them before peeling Katie Moriarty off of Lynch; the blond sighs gratefully and flexes his shoulders. Oliver realises that this is probably not the best moment to be thinking it, but he suddenly notices that the man in front of him has become incredibly fit. Did he have that rakish, lopsided smile at Hogwarts? A nervous thrum of blood starts up in his ears, pooling warmth into his stomach.
"Incredible flying today," Lynch tells him now, patting him briefly on the arm.
Oliver grins, flattered; the blond does play for Ireland, after all. "And you," he returns. "Great catch. The way you dodged McGahn to follow it – really brilliant."
The Seeker's grin is youthful, mischeivous and infectious. "Cheers," he says brightly, before gesturing at the pint of cider in Oliver's hand. "Are you taking that somewhere?" he asks.
Oliver gestures at the table in the corner where he'd been sitting. Jenny, a deceptively small but utterly formidable Beater, lifts her second glass of Firewhisky in greeting; her fellow beater Howard is busy chatting up a passing barmaid and doesn't look around. "I was just with a few teammates," he says, trying to make the but I can abandon them if you want as explicit as possible.
Lynch tips his drink back at Jenny and takes the hint. "D'you want to get a table together?" he asks, lifting his grey-blue eyes so that his fringe just falls over them and he manages to look coquettish in a way that makes Oliver's heart thump like a dog's tail on the floor.
There have been times in the past when Oliver has misread signals and been terrifically embarrassed when the man he'd thought was flirting with him turned around, completely disgusted the moment he tried something a little more forward. It's not difficult to tell that this isn't one of those times.
"Yeah," he says, his voice a little unabashedly breathless.
Unfortunately, the only free two-person table in the pub is within grabbing distance of Katie Moriarty and Dylan McGahn, now equally smashed and in the second verse of a rowdy rendition of Daisy Bell.
"So," Lynch opens casually, ignoring them. "You were on the Gryfindor Quidditch team when I was at school, weren't you?"
Oliver smiles, surprised that the older man remembers. "We played each other once. It was my first game."
"You were injured," the blond remembers. "I was watching to see if you were all right and the Snitch flew right past my nose. Avery was furious." The two giggle for a moment; Lynch's laugh is clear-cut, like a glass bell. "A Gryfindor and a Slytherin," he muses. "I think we're doomed."
Boldly, Oliver leans forward. "I think I'll take my chances," he says lowly.
Lynch leans forward too until his lager-scented breath hits Oliver's face. "I think –"
He's cut off by Katie Moriarty grabbing him from behind and almost pulling him off his stool. Oliver catches the disappointed look in Lynch's eyes before he turns to look at her, on her knees before him with her hands clasped, still resolutely belting out, "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do…"
Aidan Lynch sighs as Dylan McGahn falls off his stool laughing. "I should probably take them back to the hotel," he says sadly as Katie grabs his robes and tugs viciously. "Before they hurt someone."
"Yeah," Oliver agrees dejectedly.
Lynch bends to scoop Katie off the floor for the second time that evening, but then he turns back and leans over the table again. "I'd like to see you again," he says seriously.
Oliver's heart lifts. "Which hotel are you staying at?" he asks.
The former Slytherin beams at him. "The Phoenix," he says.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Oliver says, grinning foolishly.
Lynch returns the grin, and then guides his babbling and largely incoherent teammates out of the pub. An irritated, "Seriously, stop calling me fucking Daisy!" drifts back from the door, immediately drowned in raucous laughter.
Oliver shakes his head in amusement and pointedly avoids the amused, inquisitve looks coming from Jenny's direction.