Life as he knew it was over. There was no point in going on any longer. They had cancelled Quidditch.
Oliver was a passionate man - but never in his life had he experienced a state of depression quite so soul-crushing as this one. Of all the bloody matches to cancel, why this one? He was a breath away from marching into the castle, breaking it down to the foundations and rooting out the heir of Slytherin himself, if it meant getting the game back on schedule.
This was the final match, for Merlin's sake! The Cup depended on this! He was in his sixth year at Hogwarts. They hadn't managed to win since Charlie Weasley had left, and he couldn't ignore the uncomfortable feeling that it might have something to do with his captaincy. He tried, he really did - but this was just too much.
McGonagall had ordered all students to return to their dormitories - probably some announcement about more students being petrified. It was tragic, naturally, and he really did feel awful for the kids who'd been hurt, but Quidditch... Quidditch was Quidditch! You can't cancel Quidditch! Rather than follow the slowly migrating herd of students back towards the castle, he slipped out of the crowd and sullenly headed for the boys' locker room. He'd nearly drowned himself after their defeat by Ravenclaw last year; there was no reason he couldn't try again.
In his sulk, he didn't notice Cedric following him, and assumed when the other boy reached out to touch his shoulder that it was one of the teachers, come to haul him back inside and force him to live through his present misery. How they'd both managed to avoid the professors' insistent shepherding was anyone's guess, given that they were both in brightly coloured Quidditch robes.
"Diggory?"
The taller Hufflepuff Seeker said nothing. Motioning towards the locker rooms with his head, he tugged Oliver inside by the sleeve of his robes. Oliver wasn't sure if Cedric was afraid to speak, in case the professors noticed, or if he simply didn't like talking. To be honest, he really didn't know anything about the other boy, other than what he could physically see.
Cedric was built like a brick wall - completely out of character for a seeker, and very different from Oliver's lankiness. It must've been a bitch trying to play Quidditch when you weighed nearly fifteen stone. Well, maybe thirteen - Cedric seemed to be quite fit, not that you could tell much of anything under those canary yellow robes he was wearing.
Not that Oliver was looking.
"Sorry..." Cedric said quietly, once they were safely inside the boys' locker room. "Didn't want to risk being caught." He was a prefect - if anything, he should have been out there, assisting with the exodus. Still, it would take everyone a while to get back to their respective common rooms, and from the look on Professor McGonagall's face as she'd called Potter and Granger away, she wouldn't be headed there directly.
"It's fine," answered Oliver. "Ehh... what do you want?"
Cedric's expression was surprisingly blank, with one exception. There was the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was almost entrancing, the way it was there and then suddenly wasn't. Oliver couldn't help but stare.
"Just checking to see if you're alright. Rubbish news and all..." The way in which he spoke reflected the tone of his voice. It was gentle and reassuring - completely contrary to Oliver's enthusiastic Scottish brogue. "I feel a bit guilty, but I can't believe they cancelled the match."
All confusion went out the window as Oliver exploded. "YOU CAN'T CANCEL QUIDDITCH. Just who the hell does the Heir of Slytherin think he is!" His ranting went on for several minutes, unhindered by Cedric who - with some subtlety - had placed several Silencing Charms on the door of the locker room. Anyone standing outside - such as vagrant professors - would hear none of the long, intricate expletives coming with fierce intensity from the Gryffindor Keeper.
"Careful, Wood. Stifling your emotions is bad for you," Cedric commented jokingly, once Oliver stopped for breath.
"Sorry," Oliver grumbled. "I'm just... I'm pissed. I've only got one more chance at the Cup after this. I thought... I thought this might be a good year for us."
"You don't think they'll reschedule the match?"
"At this rate? We're lucky we're not all on the train home."
A brief flicker of concern washed over Cedric's face, but like the elusive smile, it didn't linger for very long. "That would be disappointing. I was looking forward to the game."
Oliver nodded. "Aye, me too."
Aye - Cedric's eyes brightened ever so slightly. If it weren't for Quidditch, he doubted the older boy would have even known he existed. To be fair, he doubted anything really existed outside of Quidditch for Oliver. The Gryffindor breathed the stuff, lived every waking moment for it. He had no doubt that a career in the sport was in Wood's future - but then, he spent quite a bit of time thinking about it.
He'd never even seen Oliver with a girl on his arm, which was how most Hogwarts students passed the time between homework and classes. At first he'd thought... well, it was quite obvious to everyone that Oliver was simply too obsessed with practise to have time for that sort of thing. It was admirable, in a way, how devoted he was to his team and to devising new, ridiculously difficult training schedules. The amount of time Oliver spent pouring over his playbook, magically prodding little players along the page - Cedric had more dreams about being that book than anything else, as far as he could remember.
"You'd have been good."
Cedric's face went from a sun-free English white to cherry red in a matter of seconds. "I- ...what?"
"During the game today..." Oliver explained. "If we'd played... you're a good flyer, Diggory." He didn't often hand out compliments to the other team; he didn't like to get their confidence up.
"O-oh, of course," Cedric replied. "Right." He could feel his cheeks burning. His usually calm exterior had shattered on the locker-room floor because he'd allowed himself to think back to earlier daydreams.
Oliver was getting concerned. "Are you alright? You look a bit feverish..."
Well, this was certainly humiliating. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a bit... I'm upset about the match being cancelled. I really wanted to play." He stumbled through the words, but it was as good a response as any. It's not like Oliver would notice anyway; if anything he'd be back to ranting about cancelling Quidditch before either of them could blink.
"Right..." Oliver sounded thoroughly unconvinced. He didn't approve of fraternising with the enemy any more than he did bolstering the enemy's confidence - but he didn't like seeing another player in need, especially one who clearly cared about the sport as much as he did. And to be fair, the match had been cancelled - god damn that heir of Slytherin - so Diggory wasn't exactly the enemy any more. Or at least, not until next year, when the season started up again.
"C'mere." Propping his broom up against the lockers, Oliver motioned Cedric over. The younger boy had been keeping his distance ever since he'd let go of Oliver's sleeve when they walked inside.
Cedric stood frozen in place.
With a slight smirk at the Hufflepuff's awkwardness - weren't they always? - Oliver moved over to him, and deftly undid the laces at the front of Cedric's robes. There was a certain skill to the way he manipulated tie, tugging it loose while taking Cedric's broom from his hand. Of course, any Quidditch player would have plenty of experience with his own robes - but a man who can properly knot a tie on himself can't always do it for someone else.
"Wh-what are you d-d-doing?" Cedric stammered. He never stammered. He was always confident, and calm, and collected and he could feel Oliver's fingers through the fabric of his shirt as the Gryffindor slipped his robes from his shoulders.
"You look like you're about to have a stroke, Diggory."
"It's hot in here," Cedric answered.
"I know, lad. It's why I took your robe off."
'Took your robe off.' He wasn't entirely sure, of course, but Cedric had the distinct impression that his brain had just melted out of his ears.
Putting both hands on Cedric's shoulders, Oliver gently pushed him down on to the bench between the lockers, forcing him to sit. "Just relax, alright?" Pulling back slightly, he took a seat next to the Seeker, whose broad chest was everything he'd imagined and then some, and rested his hand on top of Cedric's. "They can't cancel Quidditch forever."
Glancing down, Cedric's elusive smile broke out in full force.
"Thank Merlin for that."