Disclaimer: I own nothing. Oliver Wood is the product of JK Rowling, etc, etc. Don't sue cause I'm broke and I've got bills to pay. Lyrics used are Chemicals Between Us by Bush.
Wrong In All The Right Ways
I want you to surrender
All my feelings rose today
And I want you to remain
The power of children can amaze
I'll try not to complain
I know that's a pisser baby
~*~
It was wrong.
It was his duty to look after her, both as a Professor, but first and foremost, as an operative of the Order of the Phoenix. The task was simple; keep the girl from choosing the wrong side. It should have been simple. None of the notes mentioned that the girl was stunningly beautiful, had a keen mind, and could deliver a verbal lashing to rival McGonagall.
It was wrong in many, many ways.
He couldn't deny that. But he would never say it out loud, nor would he ever in his long life say the object of wrongness aloud. Ever.
There are simply some things in life, Oliver Wood had concluded, that are completely outside of our control. Just as no human could contain the beating of their heart, neither could they choose what direction it took. And so his had steered him down the morally wrong and probably frowned upon path to that gorgeous American accent.
Though was it really wrong? She was legal, by UK standards, the sweet sixteen. And Ceres was sweet. Sweet and sour and fiery and every adjective in between. The epitome of honesty, every word that slipped from those full lips tumbled from her mind unpolished and without edit. Such a rare trait in a woman.
But there was more to it than that. And the man wasn't entirely sure what 'it' was. Could it be the things she's seen and survived? The strength she possessed? There was simply something about the young witch that made it impossible not to like her, romantic or otherwise.
He wishes a lot, too. Oh, does he wish. Why couldn't he meet her at some other time in life? Why now, when he was not only to teach, but watch over her? So much rode on this girls shoulders, and she seemed unfounded by the weight. He, strangely enough, wishes to switch places with any one of those Hogwarts undergraduates. Just for one chance. Only for one moment. He would do anything for it, and he did mean anything. Thankfully Oliver Wood had absolutely no talent in potions. The things he imagined doing with just a bit of Polyjuice Potion were always increasing in number and detail. He could be no one, he could be anyone, as long as he could have just a moment with her.
He knows everything. All of the facts are perfectly clear. The only question that always evaded him was the so-called simplest of them all. Oliver pondered this one very often, at unhealthy levels, though let's face it what is healthy about this attraction? At all hours of the day and night it entered his mind and flitted about, desperately searching for the answer, the end. Like a bat, flying blind, except with no sonar to guide him save for his heart. Each time the same answer, basic and profound, was the only one caught.
She was simply Ceres. Kind, curious, inventive, bold, quirky; simply amazing in the true and forgotten sense of the word; the power to amaze.
The Professor had tried everything. Listing the reasons, and there were many of them, why it could never, ever, happen in a million years. When that didn't work he tried to focus on the lessons themselves, the aspect of teaching which aside from his years as Quidditch Captain he had little to no experience in. Not thinking about the red-head only made her come to mind in greater numbers and frequencies. Even yelling at himself! And still, there it was, that compellance to take her, that cursed attraction.
He often felt disgusted with himself, Oliver would never deny that. Often being every waking minute the girl crossed his mind. Cursing her existence should have factored in, but did not. The girl had done nothing wrong. It was he who should be cursed.
But of course there is only so much self-pity one man can take, and so at the end of the day, when the clock in the girl's pocket struck eight, none of these things seemed to matter. They should have, but they didn't. All that mattered was the light in those very odd and familiar aquamarine eyes, the tilt of those soft full lips pulled in a precocious smile, and finally that airy, blunt voice, cautious and bold all at once.
It was wrong, Oliver Wood thought, as she flew towards him to begin the first match against Slytherin.
But the only wrong he could find was that the red and gold robes just weren't quite her size.
A/N~ Just a little something I've had sitting around my fanfic folder. Its not too-great, but it's Oliver's thoughts, not mind, I can only edit so much until its really just not Oli anymore. Shoot me a review please, constructional criticism makes my day. Tis the only reason its here.