Waking Up When You Want To
A HariPo oneshot
by mew-tsubaki
Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. Whoo, boy, another GGE… :O Read, review, and enjoy! *Written for HP Slash Luv for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2014 forum with the pairing Harry/Oliver.
- ^-^3
The first time Oliver met Harry, he was blown away. Granted, most everyone was. This was the kid who'd killed You-Know-Who.
Still, those green eyes were so innocent.
"Well, Harry, shall I teach you everything about Quidditch?"
That gaping mouth had been all the encouragement Oliver had needed.
Over the course of three years and through three attempts on his life by followers who'd wished to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry had demonstrated that he was much more than a wizard. He'd accomplished so much, had done much more in his life so far than any person would ever do in their entire lifetime.
And yet all Oliver could think was that, "At least I'm leaving Gryffindor in capable hands," and he thought winning the Cup before graduating was his own greatest achievement.
Then Harry had said, before the students dispersed and the seventh years left for good, "Oliver?"
They were almost to the trains, and Oliver was surprised Harry had time for him. The kid had looked to have a lot on his mind lately. No wonder—his godfather had been vindicated, and Harry had a new option in life. Still, Oliver had all the time in the world for the best Seeker he'd seen since Charlie. "What's up, Harry?"
"I was wondering… Could I get some more pointers on Quidditch, and stuff?"
"Ah…that's a bit of an odd request…"
"No, I just— I mean, Ron knows loads about these things, since he's into it. Chudley Cannons, and all that…"
Maybe it was a trick of the sunlight, but Oliver thought he detected a trace of uneasiness, of little confidence in his eyes. He gave Harry an easy smile. "It's no problem, Harry."
Harry seemed ready to exhale a sigh of relief, but he didn't. Instead, he grinned back, feigning the confidence Oliver had only seen in him on the pitch so far. Ah. The Boy-Who-Lived was trying to grow up. "I'll owl you, yeah?"
"'Course. Hey, I hope you have a nice summer, Harry." And he meant it.
- ^-^3
Sad to say, Harry was in the back of his mind that summer. After a grueling June of training and practice, and a July full of tryouts and rejections, August came.
And with it, an invitation from Puddlemere arrived.
Oliver's parents were ecstatic. "I'll paint the whole house blue and yellow!" his father exclaimed.
"Christmas cards this year—shall we do Puddlemere-themed ones?" his mother asked, her eyes lit with excitement.
(In all honesty, his parents seemed more amazed by it than Oliver was. Hmm. Was that an insult?)
Still, his father was happy. "You'd never spoken much about what you'd do after school, besides play Quidditch," he told his son in early August. "Truth be told, your mother and I were a little worried."
Oliver frowned at his father. It was a small annoyance in the back of his mind that he might look like him someday, bearded and a little rounder than he'd want. "I was always going to play Quidditch."
"Yes, yes… Well, a lot of people think that…" His father trailed off, realizing his was getting further from his point than he wanted. "But enough about that. How about we go see a game?"
"Really?" the Gryffindor asked.
"Yes, all three of us."
"Even Mum? But she's never been very keen on watching matches."
"Oh, she'll want to see this one." And his father pulled from his pocket three tickets for the 1994 Quidditch World Cup.
Oliver gaped at him. "But this is—"
His father grinned. "A small reward for working so hard, Oliver." The older wizard shrugged. "Besides, this year it's Ireland versus Bulgaria, but maybe someday we'll go see a match that's England versus…anyone."
The teen smirked. "You'll only need two tickets for that, I hope," Oliver remarked.
"That's the idea. Make it onto the national team and get in yourself, son. After all, you're an adult now."
They laughed together, and it was nice. It was nice, even despite the niggling feeling in the back of Oliver's mind that he was forgetting something…
- ^-^3
Of course, he understood why he'd had that feeling when he got to the Cup and spied the Weasley twins.
"Oi, you two!" he said to Fred and George—er, George and Fred…well, who ever really knew which one was on which side? (Times like these, Oliver wished for Angelina's expertise on that matter.)
The twins turned and flanked Oliver on either side. "Oi yourself, Wood," the twin on the right said.
"It's not very nice to holler at people in crowds," the other stated.
"We're classy gents," they said in unison.
Oliver laughed in spite of himself. "Nice to see you, too. I didn't know you were coming to this."
"Kind of a last-minute thing," the one on the right mentioned. (Oliver decided he was Fred since he insisted on taking the lead.)
"We even picked up Harry and Hermione for Ron," George informed him.
"Wee little friends to keep wee ickle Ronniekins entertained," they snickered.
"Plus Ginny's a given," Fred added.
Oliver stopped walking, which was quite a feat since the twins had been leaning on him and they'd kept going. Ah, right, Harry. He felt like an idiot. He'd promised to communicate with him over the summer, but it had completely slipped his mind.
As the twins were wandering off, talking about making some bet, Oliver turned back to his family's tent, hoping he'd see Harry at some point so that he could apologize in person. At least he might make things a little more right by telling him the good news about Puddlemere.
As luck would have it, though, Oliver bumped into Harry almost literally a few yards from the tent. "Oh, Harry! Long time, no see," Oliver blurted.
"Good to see you, too, Oliver." Somehow, Harry looked out of place and yet right at home at the same time here at the World Cup. It was easy to forget, Oliver realized, that Harry had not grown up around all of this.
"Fred and George told me they grabbed you and Hermione. Isn't this exciting? The World Cup! Who're you supporting?"
Harry held up the scarf zipped into his sweatshirt. "Ireland, from what I know of them. Though Ron's a big Krum fan."
Absentmindedly, Oliver noted that the green of the Ireland scarf wasn't the same green as the Seeker's eyes. But he shook himself free of that thought. "Yeah, Ireland's a great team."
The younger boy looked around him. "Who're you here with?"
"Oliver?" Mrs. Wood called at the perfect moment.
"Ah, my parents…" Oliver ducked his head sheepishly as his parents appeared behind him. "Um, Harry, this is my mother and father."
Luckily, the greetings were short and sweet. Oliver's parents did their best not to embarrass him, though they came close when they recognized Harry's infamous scar. Still, they gave Oliver a moment to walk with his former teammate.
"Sorry about them," the older boy said to drum up conversation again.
"Why? They're fantastic," Harry confessed.
Oliver glanced down and frowned. Good Godric, he was an idiot… Of course Harry would like Oliver's parents. Just because Harry had Sirius now didn't mean he didn't miss his parents. "By the way," Oliver said, trying to lift Harry's mood, "all that practice has finally paid off."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. You're looking at the new reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United."
Harry nodded appreciatively. "That's brilliant, Oliver. Honestly." His expression was sincere. "After having practiced under you for three years…I'm not surprised you made it."
"Yes, well, I might only be a reserve, but I plan on giving my motivational speeches whenever we have a game, since they did Gryffindor well. I mean, we eventually won the Quidditch Cup, didn't we? …Potter, are you laughing at your former Captain?"
No matter how hard Harry tried to hide it, his shoulders were shaking, and he couldn't quite keep his face straight. "I said nothing whatsoever, Wood."
Oliver's face grew warm from embarrassment. "Yeah, yeah…" He scratched the back of his head. He knew it was time to head back to his parents, so he had maybe another minute or two to spare for Harry. "By the way, sorry about no mail this summer."
"No, the fault's mine. I kind of got caught up watching the drama unfold as my godfather popped another vein in my uncle's neck while telling him that I'd be in his care now."
"Everything all right, then?"
Harry shrugged. "More or less. Sirius' home is becoming home, though the house-elf, Kreacher, is someone I could probably live without… Ah, I should get back to Ron and the others before Hermione sends out a search party." He held out his hand and shook Oliver's hand. "Congrats on Puddlemere, Oliver. I'll owl you soon, promise."
"It's no problem, Harry, really. And maybe I'll be able to send some tickets to the team in the future, have everyone learn some new tricks."
"That'd be nice." Harry tipped his head then and left, and the night just became another festive one for Oliver.
- ^-^3
Well, it wasn't all that festive when Death Eaters crashed the party and sent everyone fleeing.
Like most of the fans, the Woods had abandoned their tent almost immediately. Oliver did pause to worry about Harry—and the twins and the others, of course—but he had no time to go looking for any of them. His parents dragged him along and forced him into Side-Along Apparition. He would have to learn later that several Death Eaters cornered Harry and his friends and that the Ministry didn't quite understand things, not yet.
Oliver did end up sending an owl to Harry first, shortly after the scene at the World Cup:
Harry—
Are you all right? The Prophet's been going on about what happened, and my father heard from a friend who'd witnessed Ministry officials botch things. Did they really point their wands at you?
—Oliver
A response did not come immediately. Not until after the school year began and the Gryffindors had a few Quidditch practices under their belts with Angelina as Captain did Oliver finally hear from him.
Oliver—
I'm fine. We were all unhurt. The Ministry thought I'd cast the Dark Mark in the sky, but it's fine. My name was cleared, though I confess I'd like not to deal with the Ministry anymore.
There was a drop of ink on the page after the paragraph, indicating…hesitation, Oliver guessed. Which made sense, as the letter continued.
So, learn anything useful from the Ireland–Bulgaria match? I'm not sure I caught all the action, though watching Krum play did get me fired up to play this year.
—Harry
It wasn't much comfort, but Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He'd hated the thought that, as their senior, he'd left them to fight on their own. But…but…
Oliver sighed and stared at the items in his room, most of which were Quidditch-related. If he was being frank, he'd admit that he was only a real fighter on the pitch. Percy and McGonagall had long ago and several times pointed out that he had a one-track mind: the Quidditch track.
Still, if that were the case, then Oliver wouldn't be talking about things other than Quidditch with Harry, right?
And, as it turned out, that really wasn't the case. The Triwizard Tournament came to Hogwarts, and, though the letters were spotty and infrequent, Harry was coming to tell Oliver more and more of the things he did off the pitch.
Not to mention that Quidditch has been rendered pointless, Harry wrote, with the tournament. Surprisingly, Krum is Durmstrang's champion. Oh, and do you remember Cedric Diggory? He's Hogwarts'…and so am I.
Oliver…didn't know how to react to that. He compartmentalized so that he fretted a bit about those on-goings when not at practice, but he was confused. Hadn't the tournament always been one student from each of the three schools? So two Hogwarts students didn't make any sense…
At least Harry told him about the dragons. He had a good plan, to Summon his broom and utilize his flying skills.
Charlie never mentioned if it was possible to out-fly a dragon, Oliver wrote, but I reckon if someone has a chance, it's you, Harry.
Oliver didn't get a response to that letter, but he heard the good news from Angelina and Katie. Harry had bested the dragon, and rather spectacularly. Imagining the feat put a smile on the Keeper's face.
As the school year dragged on for Harry and blurred from one match into another for Oliver, their communication remained fairly erratic. It surprised Oliver to get a short missive from Harry before Christmas, though, griping about the Yule Ball. Oliver commented, It'll probably look gorgeous in the castle, though.
And Harry? The castle's one thing. But witches are scary when it's time to dress up and dance.
Oliver somewhat understood his pain. Several times before matches, he'd seen Angelina, Katie, and Alicia primp to no avail, since flying always messed up their hair. But he'd stopped trying to stop them after the second time they'd hexed him off his broom. It hadn't been a pretty sight. Speaking of sights…
The Keeper wondered how odd it would be for him to visit his alma mater. He still lived at home and split his time between there and Puddlemere's practices, and he'd grown bored. A part of Oliver tempted him with the idea to visit Harry, even if only for a change of pace. Besides, he convinced himself, surely he was beginning to forget his friends' faces.
And yet he had left Hogwarts alone throughout two tasks and the ball. Still, Oliver hadn't shaken the idea, and he did visit in late spring, before the third task commenced.
The grounds were as lush as he recalled…and Oliver blushed. As he entered through the front door, to seek permission from McGonagall if not Dumbledore to visit, Oliver internally groaned. Would anyone miss him? Had anyone been missing him? Perhaps Angelina and Alicia. Maybe Katie and Lee. The twins… And Percy—ah, no. He'd graduated, too, and Oliver hadn't heard from his roommate for a long while, despite spotting him in passing a few times at the World Cup…
Oliver's mind wandered, and Flitwick spotted him. "Mr. Wood!" the little Charms professor squeaked. "To what pleasure do we owe this visit?"
"Ah, Professor Flitwick… It's nice to see you. I suppose I was feeling nostalgic." The tall boy grinned wanly.
Flitwick cocked his head to one side. "That's lovely. It's not against the rules, you know. I do wish more of our former students would visit." He pointed, though not rudely, up at Oliver. "Do let Professor Dumbledore know you're wandering the campus, however."
"Of course, professor."
"Good day, Mr. Wood."
"The same to you, professor."
Flitwick toddled off behind Oliver, his footsteps echoing in the rather empty corridor. Oliver himself continued forward, wondering if perhaps he'd come not during a break but during classes, which defeated his purpose.
He rounded the corner, saw two people up ahead, and ducked back behind the corner. When he peeked around again, he saw they were still there…"they" being Harry and Diggory.
It wasn't an unusual picture, as they were both Quidditch players. And yet…Harry was smiling. Comfortably. Maybe he'd just been laughing as well, judging by his soft expression. Diggory, too, looked to be enjoying Harry's company as they stopped to chat.
Oliver frowned at himself. Why the hell was he hiding? There was nothing strange about seeing them…although Oliver was curious. Harry had mentioned Diggory just a few times in their letters, as Diggory had kind of taken Harry's side in the ensuing chaos of Hogwarts having two champions. Diggory had been an ally, Harry had told Oliver.
The Keeper sighed. He wished that Diggory weren't that older figure for Harry to look up to—Oliver had begun fancying the idea that he himself was that figure for Harry. Which had been nice, since everyone else on the Gryffindor team had never taken Oliver seriously at all. Harry didn't, either, but he could on occasion.
He was too caught up in his thoughts, so much so that he didn't notice when Harry and Diggory parted ways, and Harry was coming his way.
"Oliver?"
Harry's voice spooked him and Oliver jolted. Agile and light on his feet—Harry really was a Seeker. "H-Harry," Oliver stuttered.
"What're you doing here?" No joy or confusion on his face, just curiosity.
"I, uh… I wanted to see Hogwarts…"
"Lonely?"
Harry always went on about Hermione, but he was fairly perceptive himself. "No," Oliver fibbed. He fell into step with the younger lad.
"I'm surprised to find you walking around the castle like this," Harry continued, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "Everything all right at home?"
"Oh, definitely. And Puddlemere's been great, too." Oliver fidgeted before shoving his hands into his pockets. "How're the houseguests?"
The Boy-Who-Lived shrugged. "Not too bad. I don't deal with them that much, although it's amusing to watch Ron fawn over Fleur Delacour while Krum chases after Hermione."
"No joke?"
"No joke."
The brunet wizard stroked his chin. "What about Diggory?" He paused, wondering if Harry might guess he'd seen them. Though that wasn't bad, right? They hadn't been doing anything for Oliver to witness.
"Everyone loves him and hates me," Harry said with half a smile. "And yet he still insists on being nice to me. It's almost as though I'm rubbing everyone's nose in it that way," he added with a light chuckle.
Oliver liked the sound, and he chuckled a bit, too. "Must be tough, not having any Quidditch this year… Wait, don't you have class?"
"I could skip one History of Magic, I'm sure," Harry answered. "And I do miss Quidditch. I'd much rather fly after the Snitch instead of risking my life for these stupid tasks." He stopped and looked up at Oliver. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but I really don't want to be one of the champions."
They were standing by the moving stairs and, while the stairs were moving, no one else was around. Oliver pushed his questions about Diggory to the back of his brain and reached up, hesitantly. Then he went for it and ruffled Harry's hair, looking away. "Don't say that, Harry," he told his underclassman. "You're a great wizard, and a hell of a Quidditch player."
Harry snorted and gently pushed Oliver's hand away. "Cedric said something along those lines, too, not that long ago."
Oliver's eye twitched, but he didn't understand why. "Well, I should let you take your time moseying to Binns' class," the older male stated suddenly.
Harry's face dropped. "I thought you were visiting?"
"Ah, I've seen what I wanted to," Oliver said, which wasn't entirely false. He forced a smile. "I'll see you around, Harry."
As he walked away, Harry called after him. "Come see the final task, will you?"
Oliver didn't trust his voice. He raised a hand over his shoulder, neither confirming nor denying his presence for the third task.
- ^-^3
For a short while, Oliver puzzled over how he'd acted and reacted when he'd seen Harry. Maybe he'd just been a bit jealous of Diggory for…being a big brother in Oliver's absence?
That had to be it. Oliver was sure of it. And with that decided, Oliver seriously considered going back to Scotland to cheer Harry on for the final task.
But when the time came, Puddlemere was forced into several late-night practices after suffering a humiliating loss to Wigtown. The reserve Keeper was worked nearly to the bone like the rest of his teammates, and he could barely lift a quill to parchment when he got home, an apology for Harry on the tip of his tongue. Yet exhaustion took him, and he slept the night and much of the next day away.
Then, of course, the news was everywhere.
The Triwizard Tournament, a disaster. Champions hexed, cursed—and killed. Harry, deemed insane. The Death Eaters were gaining numbers once more.
Oliver…didn't know what to do, or how to react. A little time passed, but the end of the summer was still far off. Eventually, he wrote something:
May I see you? —O
It was a sentence that fit on three lengthwise inches of parchment. It was hardly worth the owl's energy, perhaps, but Oliver felt it was all he could do. When not on the pitch, Oliver Wood felt ridiculously useless, and it didn't help him to recall those brief moments when he'd seen Harry's eyes waver over the years.
Luckily, he might not prove to be so useless after all, for the next thing he knew, Harry told him how to get to Sirius' house. The note was only directions, but Oliver had a feeling it was the most Harry had spoken to anyone in weeks.
It was mid-July when Oliver flew to London, in search of Twelve Grimmauld Place. He got lost on the street when he looked several times for Number Twelve, but Harry appeared on the steps when Oliver blinked, and he realized there must've been enchantments on the townhouse.
Harry looked the worst Oliver had ever seen him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked thinner than when Oliver had last seen him. Even his normally messy hair seemed to droop. But while Oliver saw sadness on that pale face, he could recognize anger when he saw it.
"No, I'm not all right," Harry confessed when the older boy approached. "But that's about as much as I want to say right now."
Oliver nodded, understanding that he didn't need to speak yet.
"Let's walk," Harry said, and he came down the steps and began walking up the street, leaving Oliver to jog after him. After the first block, Harry exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. "Sorry," he began. "It's just—after all that happened, this summer hasn't been so great." He pursed his lips. "I've not even heard from Ron or Hermione."
The Keeper blinked. "Strange."
"I've not seen them, either. It's frustrating." He glanced up at Oliver. His look was both apologetic and thankful. "I…kind of needed a friend right now."
Oliver's chest tightened, and he nodded. "I'm glad you were all right with me."
Harry managed a snicker. "Don't put yourself down, Oliver. I don't think I could've played for you if I didn't like you, and I'd like to think teammates can be friends, too."
The Keeper fought a stupid grin from appearing on his face. "Well, Houses, too. I mean, I'll die still hating Flint, and I have to admit that Chang was a good player, but Diggory wasn't too—" Oliver choked, realizing what he was saying. "…wasn't too bad," he finished weakly.
His companion stared at the ground as they walked. Six, seven minutes of silence passed.
"I'm sorry, Harry. The only thing I'm not rubbish at is being a Keeper."
Still Harry said nothing for another five minutes. And then—"No one seems to get it. He…his name was Cedric, and he was a good friend as well as a good Seeker."
To make the awkward moment worse, Oliver thought Harry was on the verge of tears. Neither of them mentioned it.
"It's not safe anymore," Harry said at last when they turned around and headed back towards Grimmauld Place.
"When has it ever been?" Oliver glanced down at Harry. "Or did you not attend Hogwarts the past few years?"
Harry laughed darkly. "Point taken. At least Voldemort's dead—though that didn't stop his followers from trying to resurrect him recently."
Oliver's eyes widened in response.
"Yeah. That's the story that the Ministry doesn't want me sharing. He's not back, but his followers are, and in large numbers. I know for sure that one of them is Malfoy's dad, too, but the Ministry doesn't want to believe me. They think they just have some bad eggs on their hands for the Hit Wizards to take care of." Harry shook his head. "And Pettigrew…I already told Sirius…"
Whatever that meant, Oliver didn't know. And he also didn't know if he preferred an angry Harry over a depressed one. He clenched his fists and subsequently relaxed them, patting Harry on the back. "You need to fly, my friend."
The remark caught Harry by surprise, and some color returned to his cheeks. "Oliver, we're right in the heart of Muggle living—"
"Then let's get away from the Muggles for a moment." He tugged on Harry's arm. "C'mon."
"I don't even have my broom on me, just my wand—"
"So live a little crazy and go for a ride with me." Oliver squashed the mental images of a pretty witch riding behind him instead, as he was determined to do this.
It did take some pushing, but once they'd walked nearly out of the city, Oliver mounted his broom and waited for Harry to hop on. He did, and the two rose into the early evening sky.
They were quiet for the whole three minutes they flew, but Oliver sensed Harry lighten up. At first, his arms around Oliver's chest and waist had been tense, but then they fidgeted and turned awkward when Oliver flew slower. At least his mind seemed to go elsewhere for the moment.
When they landed, they remained quiet. Oliver was breathing hard from the brief flight, but he still walked the entire way back to Harry's godfather's place.
"We'll have to do this again sometime," Oliver joked as Harry went up to the door.
Harry snorted at him. "Maybe, maybe not."
"See you, Harry." He turned to go.
"Oliver, wait. Aren't you going to come in?"
The older boy blinked. "Huh?"
"You came all the way here. You could eat with us. I'm sure Sirius wouldn't mind."
"I, uh…"
Harry smirked. That smirk coupled with those green eyes had occasionally put Oliver in mind of a Slytherin…but he was glad to have shared Gryffindor with Harry, even if they hadn't been in the same year. "You hadn't thought that far ahead, had you?"
Oliver ducked his head, hiding his red cheeks as he walked in after Harry. "Shut up… I'm a good strategist—"
"On the field, I know, I know," Harry said with a laugh. Unbeknownst to Oliver, it was the first Harry had laughed for real in a month.
- ^-^3
Throughout the summer, Oliver visited Grimmauld Place, often. To his shock, he liked Sirius Black; Sirius was nothing as the old stories had described him, and he was more of a doting father than caring godfather when it came to Harry. But Sirius appreciated Oliver coming around and hanging out with Harry between practice and matches.
Sirius gave him a look once in late July, when Harry had left the kitchen. "You know, because…" He hadn't needed to finish.
Oliver nodded. "I know." He did. Still Ron and Hermione hadn't contacted Harry or seen him, and he'd begun to get a little pissed with them, since they were supposed to be Harry's best mates.
"I'm off to Remus'," Sirius announced, as if that were a rare occurrence. It turned out that the two old friends spent a lot of time together, though Oliver had to wonder if they were only catching up on old times. With Ron and Hermione acting strangely, and Sirius leaving Grimmauld Place a lot, Oliver would be damned to think that something wasn't up.
"Oh, something definitely is," Harry said when Oliver voiced his opinions. "Now, come on. I've got a few moves to practice, and I need to try them out on you."
Oliver groaned. "I'm beginning to feel like your Quidditch dummy, Harry."
Harry grinned. "It's not my fault all the other Seekers are bigger than me. And you're burly, so it all works out."
Oliver rolled his eyes, but he let Harry do as he pleased.
The remainder of the summer carried on like this. Even Harry's fifteenth birthday, which only Sirius and Oliver celebrated with him. However, as the summer wound down, something stirred, and Oliver couldn't come see Harry as much.
"Oh, um—stuff with Ron and Hermione came up," Harry told him. Something was flickering in his eyes again.
Oliver frowned. "You can tell me if you want, Harry."
"No, Oliver, it's—" He furrowed his brow and rubbed the bridge of his nose, beneath his spectacles. "It's nothing," he said with a sigh, trying to sound as though he meant it.
Oliver didn't hassle him. He'd come to learn that Harry would tell him things. In time, but he'd tell him things.
Of course, then Harry's fifth year began, the professor from hell arrived, and the year turned to utter shite.
One thing after another piled up, and Oliver ran out of time to read the dozens of letters Harry was sending him on a semi-regular basis. By the time he got to them, guilt washed over him.
She's changing Hogwarts, Harry said in one.
We're teaching ourselves, that's all I can tell you, he said in another.
Her idea of detention is carving words into my hand… But I won't tell Dumbledore. He's got enough to worry about.
and
I kissed Cho Chang. But I don't think I should've.
Furthermore—
A lot of things are happening. I feel as though Quidditch is the last thing on my mind. I wish for its simplicity, though. I miss flying with you.
Worse, yet:
I miss Cedric.
And Oliver regretted his lack of attention most when the school year ended and things began to go up in flames as he read the headlines: MINISTRY BREAK-IN. DEATH EATERS BACK FOR GOOD. IS THERE ANOTHER YOU-KNOW-WHO ON THE RISE?
Suddenly, Puddlemere didn't seem so important with the rumors swirling about Harry.
When the summer arrived, Oliver asked Harry more questions. "What happened? Were you safe? What did you learn? Are you going to be all right in the future?"
Harry barely had time to answer Oliver as he tried to dodge the volleyball that they were calling a Bludger for practice. "We fought Death Eaters in the Ministry. Of course I wasn't safe, but at least Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna had my back! We learned to defend ourselves, is all! And, Oliver! Stop bludgeoning me with questions! You're not my brother or father!"
With both his words and the volleyball, he hit Oliver in the chest, hard. Oliver crash-landed on his broom.
Harry gasped and quickly dismounted. "I'm sorry! I didn't—"
Oliver held up a hand. "No, I know." He locked eyes with Harry. "But I'm your friend, and I do care about you."
Still…saying that… Oliver wondered if it was a lie, calling himself Harry's friend. Because he sure as hell spent more time with him and cared more for him than he believed a friend would.
And he could read it in Harry's eyes, too. They weren't friends, not really, but they were much more than captain and player.
"Let's practice again," Harry said, and that was the beginning of Harry refusing to meet Oliver's eyes.
- ^-^3
For Oliver…it wasn't a blur. It was a smudge.
It reminded him of those times in Transfiguration when he'd nod off and hastily copy Percy's notes later, only to do a shoddy job and be unable to read them because he'd smudged it all. Blurs, he could kind of make out. Smudges were illegible.
And that's what Harry's sixth year was to him.
From romance (too many girls were after Harry, poor bloke) to pranks (the twins' store was doing well and still their chaos reached Hogwarts) to Dark things (because Oliver agreed with Harry's letters that Malfoy was likely up to something and that Snape couldn't be trusted), it turned into one big smudge between Oliver and Harry.
Harry no longer pestered Oliver about hanging out and playing Quidditch, but he also said nothing more about Cedric. Oliver was fine with the Cedric bit, at least.
Still, Dumbledore…died. Just like that.
It didn't make sense, Death Eaters in the castle and—and—and—
Oliver couldn't wrap his head around it. Harry didn't write to him after the news broke, but Oliver didn't think it needed to be in a letter. This kind of thing had to be talked about in person.
So that July, Oliver went to Grimmauld Place in search of Harry, only to find that Harry was packing while Sirius was out.
"What the hell are you doing?" Oliver asked softly as Harry pulled on a jacket. Not a cloak. He wanted to be incognito, Oliver surmised.
"I'll be gone for a while," Harry said. And he pushed his way past Oliver, dodging the hand that reached for his arm.
"Harry—" Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat. He wished those green eyes would look at him…
- ^-^3
He didn't see him again for a year.
By the next summer, Harry had grown. He looked like a man now, Oliver noted. Maybe battle had done that to him.
Made sense. The Death Eaters had tried to take over Hogwarts, but Harry had thwarted them. He'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy and…
Oliver shook his head. What did that matter? Maybe this Death Eater business and V…Voldemort nonsense would finally be put to rest…
But even though Oliver had participated in the Battle of Hogwarts and had caught glimpses of Harry and those dazzling green eyes…those eyes still wouldn't meet his.
Oliver tried not to care. After all, they weren't friends, were they?
(But that was only half of it.)
- ^-^3
September of the year after next was fairly warm, in Oliver's opinion. The sun shone a lot, and Puddlemere was shaping up nicely. They'd even taken one of the best players from Holyhead last year, so…yeah. Oliver felt as though his life had purpose once more.
Quidditch, ah Quidditch. Oliver's one and only love.
"The beginning of the season—just sets your blood on fire, right?" Cahir, a reserve Chaser, asked Oliver.
"Definitely," Oliver replied. He pointedly stared elsewhere as Cahir brushed her red hair back, and he caught a glimpse of the emerald ring on her finger.
Merlin, he hated the color green. (Too many tough memories. Not bad…just tough.)
"We're getting a new Seeker, y'know," Cahir told him as they got the equipment out for practice.
"What? That's big news."
"Oh, no, sorry… I meant reserve Seeker." Cahir shrugged. "Though, if his school record's the real deal, then he'll probably be our new one in no time."
"Really? He's that young?" Oliver inspected the Quaffle. "Which school? Hogwarts, right?"
Cahir nodded. "Yeah, his name's—"
"POTTER!" their coach yelled.
Oliver flinched. The coach had to be wrong…or, no, well, "Potter" was a fairly common surname…
But, no, the coach's announcement was for none other than Harry James Potter, and Oliver could feel his breakfast rising in the back of his throat as the raven-haired man walked onto the field in a brand-new navy Puddlemere United sweater, emblazoned with the signature gold bulrushes.
Cahir whistled. "I didn't think it was him when I saw the name, but…wow. That is the Boy-Who-Lived, right?"
"He's not a boy anymore," Oliver griped, but he couldn't place his annoyance. Or was it anger? Agh…
As if his arrival hadn't been grating enough, Cahir had been right: Harry was less of a reserve Seeker and more a first-string player. A part of Oliver was jealous about that, as he'd been playing for years already and still was only a reservist.
But Harry had the talent. And he had the skills. Some of which Oliver had taught him, but still.
Harry still wouldn't meet his eyes, even though it'd been, what, three years or so now?
Although, Oliver had to wonder: How in the world had Harry decided on Quidditch in lieu of Auror training? Harry had dreamed of that before, especially with each passing year that he had survived.
Oliver's curiosity won out over everything else, though, and he began trailing Harry like a needy puppy, hungry for answers. Things went on like this for months, until winter was very nearly over.
And Harry was not that patient a person.
"What, Oliver?!" he barked at his former Captain by the end February. Despite Harry's skills, he was still a fresh face, and fresh faces, like Oliver, had to clean up after practice whenever the coach deemed so.
"I, uh…," the brunet said eloquently.
"Do you need something?" Harry asked, his tone calmer this time. It reminded Oliver of years ago, when Harry would ask him simply about Quidditch. Oliver had always liked those moments, with nothing but him, Harry, and the game in mind.
"…not really," Oliver mumbled.
Harry exhaled. "Then finish putting things away and hit the showers. I'm going on ahead."
Oliver dumbly nodded, but he hurried through his tasks, and by the time he left the pitch, he could see Harry walking away. He jogged to catch up with him—ah, also like old times.
And, as before, they walked for a while in silence. Eventually Harry spoke up. "I apologize for my behavior, but…we're not kids anymore."
"I know," the Keeper remarked.
"A lot has changed since…the battle."
Oliver waited. Harry would tell him.
It took a few more minutes, but Harry sighed. "I couldn't stand it anymore, you know? The Dark Arts and the villains and the risks and the loss…" His voice was hard. "I—I couldn't become an Auror. Not after all I've seen and dealt with. Even when I was journeying with Ron and Hermione, learning the Death Eaters' plans…"
Ah, so that's what had happened then. A tiny part of Oliver tried to ignore the fact that Ron and Hermione had gotten to spend that time with Harry…that would just be petty, to be jealous of that situation…
"And then, coming back, I think everyone had expectations of me." Harry sighed and tilted his head up to look at the nighttime sky. The moonlight reflected off his glasses. "I decided I loved Quidditch. It's perfectly normal, isn't it?"
Oliver smiled, watching those eyes. There actually wasn't any more self-doubt in there anymore… No, that gaze…it was almost content, almost. "'Normal' is a kind of nice word."
"I guess so. It, and Quidditch—it means I can do what I want. Like, stay up late and sleep in—"
"So long as you don't miss practice," Oliver corrected.
"Quidditch nut," Harry teased.
Oliver shrugged. "Guilty as charged." He took a breath. "Harry…do you dislike me?"
Harry gaped at him. "Why are you…?"
"There are a billion reasons. Do I really have to point them all out?" He didn't want to. He didn't want to mention Harry's favor of Cedric over Oliver. He didn't want to mention not even looking at each other for years. He didn't want to mention not being friends.
"Oliver, I told you that I couldn't play for you if I disliked you," Harry said quietly.
"But, if I recall correctly, I once asked if I should teach you everything about Quidditch. Well, I must've. You've gotten here, to Puddlemere. You don't need me anymore, so you don't need to like or dislike me." Merlin, what was he saying? He didn't mean to show himself in a poor light, but… Agh! This was infuriating. He just wanted to be able to look Harry in the eye again, at least like equals.
…oh.
Oliver blinked. It was slowly dawning on him, what he wanted. But he had no courage to voice it aloud. Maybe if this were a pitch…oh, Godric, no, he could never voice this on a pitch, either…
"Oliver."
The brunet turned. Harry had stopped with him under a lamppost. Even though the light was a horrific yellow, those green eyes were greener than ever—
—and they were finally looking at him.
Oliver shut his gaping mouth.
Harry frowned. "I joined Puddlemere because it's a good team, and I wouldn't have joined it if I disliked you. I want to play with you again, Oliver. I want us to talk again. I want to be—be friends again," he continued, stumbling over "friends." His cheeks darkened with color. "There are some people I can't forget—"
Internally, Oliver winced. Diggory's face flashed in his mind.
"—but I'd like to think that, with time, I'll make enough good memories to replace the sad ones. I'd like to make more memories with you."
If he'd been playing, Oliver felt as though he could've blocked five goals at once.
"And the team, of course," Harry added hastily. He ducked his head and resumed walking, forcing Oliver to keep up with him.
"That's fine, Harry," the taller wizard said. Oliver ruffled his hair, much to Harry's chagrin. But no matter how much Harry swatted at him, Oliver couldn't resist. "Hey…," he began as they slowed and Oliver realized Harry would probably Disapparate soon. "Harry, are you done running?"
"Running? Of course." Harry looked at him as though it were such a simple question. "I saved the world, didn't I?" he mumbled a tad darkly.
"Are you going to look me in the eyes from now on?"
Harry grumbled. "Of course! That's a ridiculous question and—" He grabbed Oliver's hand and tugged it free of his hair. "Didn't I say we weren't kids anymore?"
Oliver laughed. "You're right." They took a few more steps. "Hey, Harry? Do you like me?"
Miraculously, the Boy-Who-Lived spluttered and let go of Oliver's hand as though it were fire. "Goodnight, Oliver. See you at tomorrow's practice!" And then he Disapparated.
Yet, somehow, Oliver felt that was only the beginning. And that it was about time for him to have an interest in something other than Quidditch… (Oh, who was he kidding? He already did.)
- ^-^3
As I write this, it's almost 1 in the morning…and I'm tired. SORRY for the OOC-ness of…like, everyone… I'd like to think I did okay with Oliver, and that Harry wasn't too bad, but they really fought me in this fic, Harry more so… And yes, that was a hint of HarryCedric, because the more I wrote, the more I was intrigued by both HarryOliver and HarryCedric (and the more I wished for Harry to get jealous if Oliver were to mention Percy, but maybe that'll be a separate fic). Within the scope of this fic, though, I think the ending was right. It was a long time before their beginning…other stuff can come later. Plus, boys will be boys, and they can be slow. ;P But it was fun to draw them in uniform for the cover! :D
Hope you enjoyed it, HPSL! Dx This was a toughie for me!
Thanks for reading, and please review!
-mew-tsubaki :')