Simple Circumstance

Chapter 7 – Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff

Dearest Nina,

Forgive me for sending you this letter so late. I would be lying if I were to say that I've simply forgotten. I've been telling myself to write a letter to you every day since you left and I'm writing this letter now after finally finding the words to say.

But Nina, please know that I love you with all my heart, and that I only have your best interests in mind. You are, after all, my only child—my only daughter. You may not agree with what I wish to say, but as your mother, I'm entitled to giving you my utmost honest opinion. Please understand this when you read what I wish to tell you.

I realize that you have a wonderful life in Hogwarts and in the wizarding community there. You are in your 7th year, already an accomplished and talented young witch, already a beautiful and loving young woman. And I realize that you've started to establish something for yourself in Britain with something you wholeheartedly wish to follow. Whatever your dreams are, I have no doubts in my mind that you will chase them.

But Nina, I wish for you to come back to the States and have your future here. There are so many opportunities here that are just as fruitful and rewarding as the opportunities in Britain and you are, without a doubt, a very bright girl. I'm certain that you will have no problems finding a great career and future here.

My reasons for saying this come simply from my heart – I want you to be safe, Nina. There are just some things in Britain that I want you to have no part in. They are beyond what you or any other student at Hogwarts may know at this moment, and I want to keep you far away from that shadow of doubt. In time, you will come to understand what I speak of, but until then simply know that I want to keep you safe. Having you stay in the States will be part of that. Even now, after all this time, it still makes me ill at ease knowing that you're an ocean away from me and Allen. But when you graduate, I can be rest assured that that will no longer be a problem.

When we last spoke of this we did not end on the best of terms, and when you read this letter I hope you do not hold anything against me from that day. But I wanted to tell you the truth. I honestly do not want you to stay in Britain any longer than necessary. And when I told you that, I saw the look in your eyes. I am sorry for upsetting you as I did. I didn't realize that you felt so strongly about this.

But please, Nina—tell me why you want to stay there. Tell me what makes you want to stay in the Britain. You've now heard what I wanted to say, but I've yet to hear from you. Regardless of whatever I may say or think, what you think or feel is above all more important than you realize.

I do wish to hear from you, so please write back soon. Allen says hello, and we both miss you to bits. I hope everything is well.

Love you,
Mumma

Nina reread the letter with a faint stir of malaise. There was that indecisive tug in her chest again; the one that bothered her every single time her heart was torn between two impossible choices. Of course she wasn't angry with her mother—she loved her mum, and despite the fact that they had a spat, she could never stay upset for long. But the letter had caused Nina to delve deep into thought.

Quite frankly, though, she wasn't quite sure what to think at that point. All her emotions and thoughts on the matter were starting to form into muddled shambles, nearly impervious to any and all formal thoughts of resolution or understanding. The more she tried to linger on her mother's words—the more she tried to make sense of the argument they had—the deeper her confusion and uncertainty ran.

"Such a serious face on you, lass."

She tore her gaze from the letter in front of her and glanced up, smiling weakly in greeting.

"Morning, Oliver."

He offered a faint smile of his own and glanced around the Hall. "Where's Lizzie and Fee? Sleeping in for the day?"

"Well… by this time I believe Felicia is. But I'm not quite sure about Lizzie."

The curious look he gave her didn't go unnoticed and she smiled to herself as she took off her glasses to rub the strain out of her eyes. "Felicia came down with the flu this morning, so we took her to Madame Pomfrey earlier. And Alex wanted to steal Lizzie away for a little bit so they're together somewhere right now."

"I figured that was the case. I saw them walking around the courtyard on my way back from the pitch," he muttered as he sat beside her. "And Felicia's passed out in the hospital wing, I assume?"

Nina laughed quietly. "I think she actually did before we left."

"Doesn't surprise me," he chuckled. "I remember giving her a bit of Pepperup Potion back in fifth year when she was sick. She knocked out before her head touched the pillow."

"So you were the reason why she was impossible to wake up that time," Nina mused with a playful glare. "I remember it because me and Lizzie had to carry her up to the dorms when we found her on the couch after dinner."

"I would've taken her up myself," he rose his hands defensively. "But you know the spell the girls' dorms have. I made sure she was comfortable before I left her alone to sleep though."

Nina smiled and took another bite of her yogurt. "A true Gryffindor gentleman."

"My parents raised me no other way," he grinned. "Oh, which reminds me. Here—"

He put down his piece of toast and brushed off the crumbs from his hands before reaching into his knapsack. After a second of rummaging, he pulled out a piece of parchment and placed it in the open space between their plates for Nina to clearly see. It appeared to be a list of sorts in her eyes, which only made her stare at it in confusion.

"Wha ish it?" she asked after another bite of yogurt, her words slightly muffled from the silver spoon still in her mouth.

"It's the Quidditch scores you were asking for. The ones your friend wanted."

"You remembered?"

"You forgot?"

"No," Nina muttered sheepishly. "It just hasn't… crossed my mind in a while."

Another grin played across Oliver's lips and he went on, unbothered. "I wrote it all down for you anyway. There's a lot he missed, so I reckon having it written down would've been better than explaining it all aloud."

"Oliver… just how much is Cameron missing?" she voiced in vague alarm at the sight of the full page of notes.

At this, though, the Gryffindor Captain simply shrugged and took his last bite of toast. "I told you it was a lot he needed to be caught up with. The season is almost over for the British and Irish League, and he'll probably find the turn out so far a bit interesting. The International League started up not too long ago though. The match between Japan and Scotland coming up is only the second game of the season, so he isn't missing much on that part. But it's more of a friendly match to help practice for the Quidditch Cup next summer than anything else."

Nina scanned the parchment once more after his explanation and felt the corners of her lips curl into a small smile. It was quite the extensive list of matches between the Quidditch teams with their final scores. But it surprised her seeing the detailed comments Oliver made on each match. The best defense for one team, the major downfall for another; an Arnie Foss from the Kenmare Kestrals performing the best damn saves he'd seen in years, a Ronny Gladwyn from the Falmouth Falcons deserving the bloody Bludger to the head for the nasty foul he'd committed. She herself found it rather entertaining and most certainly helpful. Without a doubt, Cameron would share the same opinion.

"I'm kinda impressed, Oliver. I didn't think you would be so serious and put so much effort into all this, but thank you."

"It's Quidditch, lass," he stated in a tone that spoke for itself.

"Which makes you the perfect person to go to with all my Quidditch inquiries. Although… I might as well tell you now that I'm probably going to be asking about these Quidditch scores quite often…"

He shook his head but smiled to himself nonetheless. "You know where to find me then."

"Of course." She thought for a moment and glanced up at him in interest. "Actually, now that you mention it, you're here for breakfast pretty early, Oliver. No Quidditch practice today?"

"I booked the pitch for Monday and Friday this week. Hufflepuff's got everything else." There was a particular edge in his voice as he said this, but he tried to cover this little detail with a hearty bite of his scrambled eggs.

"That makes sense. You guys have your Quidditch game this weekend, don't you?"

One look at the smile emerging on her face and Oliver felt the aggravation he had unleashed on his team the day before slowly ebb away. Quite frankly, he found it difficult to be livid with Nina around, though he never quite comprehended why or how this was so.

But at that point he came to terms with the fact that there was no longer any reason to be worked up over something that wasn't his call. What's done was done, and as much as he would've loved to give the annual dose of Slytherin arse kicking—courtesy of the Gryffindor Quidditch team—it was something that would have to be pushed back farther than he would've liked.

"Yeah. First match of the season's this weekend."

"I always thought Gryffindor/Slytherin matches were more interesting out of the other games throughout the year," Nina commented with a small nod. "But then again, I suppose a game between House rivals is always the best way to kick off the season."

"Except that's gonna have to wait until the end of the year."

"You guys aren't playing Slytherin this weekend?"

He shook his head. "Hufflepuff."

"I guess that's a different change of pace… But aren't we always matched with Slytherin first? Why the sudden switch?"

"'Cause Flint's a slimy bastard and Malfoy's a sniveling puss."

Nina rose her brows at his answer. "Okay. We all kinda know that, but how'd they get mixed into this?"

Oliver smirked slightly at her words, but the sentiment slowly faded as he glanced her way. "Flint managed to snake his way into getting Madame Hooch to switch matches earlier this week. Something about Malfoy's injury preventing him from playing this weekend. But Harry's saying it's bullshit and the fact that it's Flint and his team pulling this stunt makes it that much more obvious that it's all bollocks anyway."

"Malfoy's injury?" she repeated slowly. "You're… talking about that incident with the Hippogriff, right?"

He rose a brow. "From what Harry told me, that's the one."

"What a sniveling puss…" she muttered while stirring her yogurt with a distinct frown.

Oliver didn't even bother to hold back his laugh, which only made Nina pout at him for a bit.

"Really, Oliver—Flint's just using Malfoy's injury to weasel out of playing this weekend. I was there helping Madame Pomfrey when they brought him in, so I saw it for myself. All he had was cut on his forearm, barely a shallow wound. But he acted like he was dying from dragon pox or something. It wasn't that bad at all."

"Then that proves our theory," he chuckled dryly. "But what's done is done—we can't really change Madame Hooch's decision. Even if we did tell her, it'd be our word against theirs. And knowing the Slytherins, they'd still manage weasel out of it somehow."

"I suppose that would be true…"

He shook his head once more and sighed into his words. "The Slytherins cowering out because of bad weather is fucking ridiculous enough, but it's better to just accept it and play against Hufflepuff. Besides, playing Hufflepuff this weekend means that we're against Slytherin at the end of the year. Best games are usually saved for last, aye?"

Nina laughed softly at the notion before slowly nodding her head in agreement. "I guess that's true as well. But this whole thing with the Slytherins is a bit frustrating. And that third year Slytherin, Malfoy…"

It was at this point that something in her memory clicked and her words trailed off significantly. Oliver glanced at her with a raised brow when he heard her words fade.

"What about Malfoy?"

"Third year…" she muttered to herself, straining to remember that irritatingly faint recollection at the very brim of her mind.

"Okay…? You're not really—" his words were cut short when he watched her bop her forehead with the palm of her hand as if she'd suddenly forgotten something—which, essentially, was the case.

"What time is it?"

"Err… 8:35—no, 8:36," he replied with the glance at his wristwatch.

"Dammit. I forgot I agreed to help tutor a group of third years in Professor Sprout's class this morning…"

With another quiet curse under her breath, Nina got up from the wooden bench and placed her untouched DADA textbook back into her bag. She carefully folded her mother's letter back into its envelope and folded the parchment of Cameron's Quidditch notes as well before pocketing both into her robes.

When she turned to say her goodbyes to the Gryffindor Captain beside her, Nina quickly took note of the stunned expression lingering about his features. As she readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she eyed him oddly.

"Why… are you giving me that look?"

He blinked. "You cursed."

"You've never heard me curse before?"

"As bluntly as you did now? Bloody hell no."

"I think you and Alex are really rubbing off on me then," she told him with a quiet laugh.

"I'm starting to wonder if that's a good or bad thing…"

At this she rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder before she walked past him. "Just kick Hufflepuff's arse at Quidditch this weekend, Oliver."

"You're gonna watch the game, then?" he asked with a smirk making way across his face.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she smiled.

"I'll hold it to you."

With a small nod and another wave goodbye in his direction, Oliver watched as she turned to head down the aisle. She was a short distance away when he saw her glance down at her wristwatch and then heard, quite distinctly, a quiet 'oh, fuck' leave her lips before she rushed out of the Great Hall altogether. Oliver shook his head and continued to finish up his breakfast, torn between scolding himself and laughing aloud.

Bloody hell.

Perhaps he and Alex really were rubbing off on her.

— ~ —

The day of the Quidditch match drew forth much quicker than anyone had anticipated. Oliver was practically on pins and needles adjusting his team's strategies and plays for the game against Hufflepuff. He was a bit worried about his Chasers; Hufflepuff's Keeper was fairly good and quick in reflexes, but so long as the girls kept to the plays they'd been practicing all week then he knew he needn't to fret. Or rather that was what he kept repeating to himself throughout that week.

The twins weren't much of a concern, really, considering Hufflepuff's Beaters were a slight notch below the Weasley's level of aim and speed. Both Fred and George were, after years of practice on their part, a pair of ambidextrous blokes who could alternate between their swings when needed. And this uncanny ability had undoubtedly saved their teammates from an awful headache or nasty bruise on more than one occasion throughout the years.

Truth be told, Oliver's apprehensions were actually on his Seeker, Harry Potter. Hufflepuff's Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory, was a bloody good player; wicked fast and agile for a bloke of his size—this, Oliver openly admitted. And as the weather turned for the worst by the end of the week, Oliver knew that Diggory's weight would serve as an advantage by leveling him out during the high winds and storm.

With this in mind, the Gryffindor Captain wasted no time giving advice to Harry in between classes and in the Great Hall. Whatever it took, he concluded, they had to win the match. Even if it meant talking to Harry about Diggory's weaknesses and the tricks to out-maneuver the lad throughout the whole break and being 15 minutes late to his next class. As long as Harry understood what he could do, then that was all Oliver cared about.

It was only when Nina brought up a valid point that he slowed down and left Harry to his own contemplations on the match.

"If you or Harry get any detentions this weekend as punishment for being late to all your classes then all that advice might go to waste, you know," she told him the day before the game.

He paused for a bit before saying firmly, "We haven't gotten any detentions yet. And as long as Harry takes my advice to heart, then my job's done and I don't have to worry about it."

She smiled and patted his arm soothingly. "Relax, Oliver. Harry's a really good Seeker. Have a little more faith in him."

And so, Oliver did. Even to the very last minute when they left the Great Hall for the Quidditch pitch. The rain pattered against the glass windows in the halls as if it were nothing but silly child's drums ready to be torn, and the high whistle of angry gales resonated throughout the castle walls.

Despite the nerves that were starting to settle amongst his teammates, Oliver's confidence was neither daunted nor swayed. They had the best team Gryffindor's seen in years—he knew this for damn certain—and he knew what each of his teammates were capable of. To bleedin' hell with the weather, he thought; a storm wasn't going to change the fact they were going to play. And today, especially, they were going to play their damned hardest.

They were going to win.

— ~ —

"Are you sure you're gonna be alright, Fee?" Nina shouted over the harsh winds and loud cheers of their Housemates.

The petite blonde rolled her eyes playfully. "Nina, I'm fine! Stop worrying about me, you're missing the game!"

With a small smile lingering about her lips, the ebony-haired teen held the hood of her robe in place as she stared up at the blurry figures flying about the pitch. The small voice in the back of her head told her to keep an eye on the recently-recovered Felicia—she had barely gotten over her bout of flu the day before, after all—but for the most part, Fee was in high spirits and apparently as fit as a fiddle.

Nina muttered another impervius charm on her glasses and frowned to herself at seeing that it hadn't helped very much with her line of sight—not with the rain swaying to and fro at the whim of the harsh cold winds and pounding on every spectator and player present.

"We're all missing the game because of this weather," she shouted to her friends.

"But we're winning," Lizzie said with a smile under the hood of her soaked scarlet red robes.

"We're up 40 points," Alex managed to get out beside them. "Hufflepuff hasn't even scored on us yet."

"How's Harry doing?"

Alex pointed upwards to the Hufflepuff's goalposts and motioned to the 3rd year struggling to keep his flight aligned against the strong gales as he flew to the other side of the pitch. "He's getting by, I think. The winds must've knocked the Snitch out of course 'cause I could've sworn he was about to dive in for it earlier. Dammit—WOOD! MOVE YOUR ARSE!"

The girls tore their gaze from their respective sights and watched as one of the Hufflepuff Chasers—they couldn't quite make out who—zoom towards the goalposts with the Quaffle tucked under their arm.

"And Hufflepuff's Malcolm Preece has the Quaffle! C'mon Gryffindor, catch up to bloke! He's wicked fast now and—ooh! Barely dodged a Bludger that time!" Nina could barely hear Lee Jordan's commentary through the awful weather, but her eyes remained fixated on the game before her.

She held her breath when she couldn't find Oliver at his usual place and she could feel Fee clutch onto her arm with the same vigor she used to grasp hers. The Hufflepuff dodged another Bludger headed his way but managed to throw the Quaffle before any of the Gryffindors could intercede.

Before the misshaped ball made it through the hoop, the Gryffindor Keeper flew in from off the side and caught it abruptly, tumbling on his broom for a second before throwing it to one of his Chasers close by.

"NICE save by Captain Oliver Wood! Bloody brilliant streak this bloke's having! The lovely Alicia Spinnet now has the Quaffle and is rocketing toward the goalposts and—watch it, love! Spinnet avoids a collision with Hufflepuff Beater, Anthony Rickett, and she loops to the right. Beautiful maneuver, that one! The Quaffle's thrown and—YES! Spinnet scores 10 points for Gryffindor!"

Cheers erupted throughout the crowds of Gryffindors and fellow spectators, mixing in with the continuous droning of the rain and the sudden lapse of lightning. Nina shared a bout of high-fives and shouts with her friends, laughing quietly to herself when she caught sight of Oliver punching the air in excitement.

The sound of a high-pitched whistle shrilled into the air over the sound of thunder booming overhead and all the Quidditch players flew back to the respective sides. Once they touched onto the ground, the quick time-out had ensued and the crowd around them continued on with their chants and cheers.

"We're not doing too badly for a game in this bloody storm," Alex grinned.

"You doubted them for a bit then?" Lizzie asked with a raised brow.

"Not our team, just the storm. The weather's mucking everyone up right now. Hufflepuff's taking a bit of a beating because of it—and Harry is struggling a smidge bit also."

"They'll win," Nina stated with a nod. "Harry'll win it for Gryffindor."

"I don't doubt that for a second," Alex chuckled, turning his attention to the pitch at the sound of the whistle going off once more.

Nina shifted her gaze between Oliver and Harry throughout the next few minutes of the game. Without a doubt, Oliver was doing his damn best during this match; he hadn't let the Quaffle past him once thus far. Another attempt was made as she thought this and the Quaffle was struck back to the hands of a Gryffindor Chaser with the brunt of his Cleansweep.

A bright smile appeared across Nina's features when she heard the cheers from her friends, and for a quick moment she felt her heart race.

Only at a Quidditch games, she mused to herself. It's almost impossible not to get worked up at a Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Yet she thought this as her eyes remained transfixed on the Gryffindor Keeper with the all-too-familiar tug in her chest. It was only when Oliver called out to get his Seeker's attention when she came back to her senses as well. With a quick scan the dark skies, she caught sight of the 3rd year on his Nimbus 2000.

Her heart jumped when she saw Harry and Cedric Diggory vying for the small glint of gold flickering about ahead of them. A shout tottered on the tip of her tongue when Harry drew close to the Hufflepuff, but that was when she felt it – a swift chill cascading down her back, a sudden tightening in her throat that made it difficult to breathe.

Stop.

Dementors began to fill the dark skies by the numbers and cries of duress filled her eardrums, only to be rendered to a deafening silence caused by fear, unease, and dread. The air grew thin and unbearable, almost to the point where it made her sick to her stomach.

You're a liar…

Nina shut her eyes and grimaced at the sudden memory that flooded the crevices of her mind. Something in her chest ached and the pain pulsed through her veins, almost weakening her to her knees.

"You've done nothing but lied to us this entire time. Every word you've said to us is nothing but lies on top of lies…"

"You don't know a damn thing about what I'm doing or about me. You're here for two months at a time every year—you have no idea."

Her body shook, but she couldn't make sense over whether it was from that moment of indignation from the past or the sudden rush of fear from the present.

"How dare you use me—and my mother. And to lie to our faces without a damn care in the world. You're nothing but a sorry excuse for a Muggle—a sorry excuse for aman who's done nothing but taken what's not even rightfully yours—"

She could feel that sudden sting in her cheek as if it happened only milliseconds ago. She remembered anger welling up inside those hazel eyes and she remembered feeling disbelief swelling up in hers. But she stared at him with something she had never felt before—something that was merciless and brutal and horridly raw that no amount of physical pain could surmount to.

"You will not say a word of this to your mother. You'll break her heart. And you know that she's here all alone. No other family, no other close friends to turn to. You and I both know that you can't do that to your dear mother, Nina."

"I never… trusted you. I knew never to trust you…"

But what she remembered most of all was that cold, impassive gaze. It was unsettling and twisted and beyond the wickedness she originally expected and continually dismissed. Everything up until that point was nothing but a façade.

"That's a relief, sweetie. Because I never trusted you either. But after this year, I don't have to worry that much about all that now, do I?"

Time seemed to have caught up with the ebony-haired teen and she opened her eyes, watching as a small crowd began to form at the center of the pitch. She swallowed the sudden lump that formed in the back of her throat, but the sudden constriction on her vocal chords prevented anything but a hoarse gasp to leave her lips.

There seemed to have been a 'mute' button that God or Merlin had suddenly fiddled with. Silence was the only thing that seemed to have settled upon the crowds of spectators and it was no different for the people around her. It was moments later, when her friends tugged at her sleeve to have her follow them, that she heard the words that caused a surge of numbed disbelief to course through her mind, one that could only add on to the astonishing fact that Harry Potter was still living and breathing after a death-defying fall.

Hufflepuff wins.

— ~ —

Something compelled Nina to sit outside the Gryffindor locker room, her back against the wall and her knees pulled close to her chest, half her mind in silent musing and the other half aware of the subtle darkness settling upon the lone stadium. Something other than Alex's request for her to 'get something out of Oliver', as he put it, and something much more than just her morbid curiosity. For whatever reason she couldn't quite explain, Nina was there on her own accord.

The storm hadn't let up in the slightest when Nina backtracked to the Quidditch pitch. No one in their right mind would stay out in the open grounds any longer than necessary. Other than the wind and rain thrashing against the walls unabashed, it was only her quiet breathing and the pipes rattling to life in the showers that she heard as she sat there.

In truth, she'd been rather sheepish when she realized that Oliver was still in the shower. An hour or so had already passed since the game ended, and she expected that he would've at least gotten out and was dry by the time she arrived. But that certainly was not the case—it wouldn't be for quite a while.

She checked on him, of course, to make sure he really hadn't 'drowned,' as George mentioned earlier. But after seeing his backside—much thanks to a half-wall that prevented her from seeing anything below his waist; though she's still debating over whether or not this left her disappointed or relieved or a mixture of both—she was put at ease to see that he was fine, to some extent, and opted to stayed out of locker room for her own level of comfort and discretion.

The mere sight of Oliver's back—a very toned and sculpted back, mind you—was enough to make her cheeks flush a tint that matched her House colors for quite a while. But once she stepped back into the halls, she overcame her embarrassment and waited for Oliver to finally step out on his own time as well.

Merlin knows how long it took for this to occur. But even then, Nina wasn't daunted. She was worried, which led her to check on Oliver every other odd moment. But the same process was repeated—peeking in, stepping out, waiting. After a while, Nina slid against the wall behind her and drew her knees close to her chest. He hadn't moved at all from his forlorn position. Every time she checked on him, his head was bent downwards and his fists rested against the tiled wall in front of him, leaving the same helpless feeling to sink into her bones as she sank against the wall.

She thought of the number of hours Oliver must've spent preparing for the match after Slytherin had fallen through. Knowing him, he probably lost a bit of sleep from the short notice it had left them in. And the thought of the Quidditch match itself seeped into her mind but she could only imagine how he felt about the loss.

Devastated, she remembered Katie saying. She herself felt slightly off-putted about the situation, but she realized the magnitude of disbelief and numbness they had all felt was much different for Oliver.

How frustrating, she thought to herself.

By the time she had run out of things to ponder upon, she almost missed the Gryffindor Captain altogether. His hair was noticeably damp, but he had dressed into the same dark blue jeans and scarlet hoodie she last saw him in when he and the others left that morning. She didn't even bother getting up from her place as she called out to him in a fairly placid tone:

"Quite the match earlier."

Oliver was a short distance away from her when he turned around with confusion clearly etched into his brows. Once he caught sight of the ebony-haired teen, he stared at her for a long while, not really thinking about why she was there or for how long. He was much too tired and irate to think of this, or to even care, really.

With the strap of his knapsack tight in his grasp, he turned around and continued to head down the stadium halls. Nina expected this much.

"You played a great game today though," she started to say. "It was the storm that was awful. Hufflepuff probably wouldn't have stood a chance if it were any other day."

At the mere recollection of the Hufflepuff match—the very thing he'd been trying to push into a dark corner in the back of his mind for the last half hour—Oliver silently scowled to himself and turned to face Nina once more. She noticed the look upon his face and chose her next words carefully.

"Harry tried his best, Oliver. You all did." When he remained silent, she tried again. "And it was a good match. That's all you could ask for, isn't it?"

He felt the muscles in his jaw twitch as he clenched his teeth. Quite frankly, he didn't want to indulge into these contemplations any more than he already had. It was obvious that the lass was persistent that moment, but he dismissed the stubbornness that was beginning to surface in her as he made another attempt to leave.

"Oliver Wood, get your arse back here."

The momentum in his legs fell short again and he turned to glance back at the ebony-haired teen with furrowed brows. She stared at him with a sort of stoic look in her eyes and after a while in that silence—where neither of them flinched nor shifted their gaze—she motioned to the space beside her. He thought against it for a split second, and it seemed as though she noticed because he soon saw a frown emerge across her features.

An ungentlemanly curse about that stubbornness crossed his mind—where the bloody hell did it come from all of a sudden anyways?—as he begrudgingly walked towards the girl. Knowing Nina Fey, he wouldn't hear the end of it if he hadn't and, quite frankly, that was a headache he wanted to avoid for both of them.

Their shoulders were touching when he sat in the empty space beside her. The heat that radiated from his body was rather comforting at that moment, though Nina reasoned any form of warmth was a welcoming sensation after sitting in the storm's cold air for the last few hours.

"Alex has really rubbed off on you lately, hasn't he?" she heard him mutter.

But at this, though, she smiled warmly. "Got you to say 10 words to me that time."

"An incredible feat."

"Considering the circumstance at the moment, it is."

Oliver grew quiet again and Nina nudged his shoulder softly. He glanced her way and noticed the small smile playing across her lips, but it soon faded when she realized that it hadn't roused him from his quiet disposition. After a moment of calm stillness, she sighed to herself and stretched out her legs in front of her, relishing the relief that rushed through her veins and muscles.

"Diggory offered a rematch," he got out after a while. She turned her head to look at him and remained quiet, waiting for him to go on. "I turned the offer down," he muttered just as dully.

"I see," she got out quietly. "And you think it's a mistake now?"

He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair in defeat. "What the sodding hell am I supposed to think? I could've agreed to the rematch—I had the perfect means to because of Harry. But it was fair game—it was a fair fucking game, so how could I agree to do another match?"

"Then why are you still beating yourself up over it, Oliver?"

"I don't bloody know," he countered in vexation, running his hands over his face. But the harshness in his own voice was enough to make him grimace. He sighed tiredly, this time lowering his tone into a soft murmur. "I don't know, Nina."

He felt her hand rub his arm soothingly and his dark brown eyes met hers. As long as it's Nina, he concluded at that moment. As long as one person knew what was running through his mind, then he didn't give a damn.

"Do you think I made a mistake?" he asked her quietly. "Do you think I should've accepted the rematch?"

She smiled weakly at him. "Do you blame Harry for the game?"

He frowned and mulled about his response for a moment. Honestly, he had been asking himself that ever since the match ended. But in the end he came to his honest answer and shook his head.

"Do you blame yourself?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Do you blame anyone?"

"I blame circumstance," he muttered. "But in a Quidditch match, it's irrelevant. You can't change circumstance."

"Then you just answered your question for me, Oliver." She gave another reassuring squeeze to his arm, "You can't change anything—not the storm, not the Slytherin switch-up, not the Hufflepuff match, or anything of the sort. No matter who you are, you can't change what's been done."

"I could've changed the scores by accepting Diggory's rematch."

She shook her head at him. "But I'm proud of you for not doing it. You turned it down for all the right reasons, Oliver—you said so yourself. It was a fair game under all the circumstances and conditions. It would've been unfair if you accepted his offer at all. You know that, that's why you turned it down."

Oliver sighed wearily and ran another hand through his short brown hair. Constantly replaying the match in his mind over and over—recalling those moments where he thought could've done something—caused him to be bloody tired, irritated to hell, and had him border-line between self-resentment and devastation. Regardless of the reassurances and whatever words they said to each other at that moment, nothing would change that for a while—this, he knew.

"You're second-guessing yourself," she stated simply after a bout of silence.

"Within reason."

"Don't though." He eyed her oddly, to which she continued, "At least… not when it comes to Quidditch. For someone who can get really riled up about the sport, you're also the most level-headed and fairest that I've ever seen you. Never second-guess or doubt that."

He pursed his lips in thought, tossing the idea around his mind for a while before exhaling sharply and resting his head against the wall behind him.

"Tired?"

"You have no idea…" he muttered.

"It makes sense. You've been in the locker room for a few hours. We should—"

Her words trailed off abruptly when she felt a heavy weight on her left shoulder. She turned her head to look at him and caught a small hint of that familiar earthy spiciness, though this time it was mixed with a scent of cologne she found incredibly alluring. There was a sudden knot developing in her stomach as she tried to form her words.

"Oliver…?"

"Give me five minutes," he said tiredly. "Just… five minutes."

"You can't sleep here though. It's cold."

"Five minutes," he repeated simply.

Nina soon sighed, relenting without another word. She shifted a bit to rest her back against the wall and make herself—and Oliver—more at ease. Once she settled in her place, Oliver found the sudden warmth awfully tempting and that sweet subtle aroma he now favored was enough to lull his heavy eyelids to rest.

"Your hair's still wet," she groused in a quiet but playful voice.

"You just stood in the rain for almost two hours and you're complaining about my hair being wet?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips but she said nothing in response afterwards.

It's a start, she thought with a self-satisfied nod to herself. Anyone who knew Oliver could surely see that he was still gutted about the match, but the fact that he actually spoke to her about it was enough to make her worries subside. Not completely—not even an inkling close to it—but most certainly, it was a start.

When a moment passed, she called out his name softly and a grunt of acknowledgement signaled he was still awake. But as the silence drew on, she could tell that soon wouldn't be the case.

Despite the cold and the storm and the bundle of nerves that created a batch of butterflies to blossom in the pit of her stomach, she couldn't deny that she felt rather content in that moment of silence. And for the first time in a long while, neither of them thought of their worries or problems or anxieties; not of what had happened in the past, what was happening in the present, or what could happen in the distant future. They were content with that calm peace, relishing it for as long as it lasted and savoring it for all it was worth.

At that point, they only had minutes of keeping that moment to themselves.

Edited: 6/21/2015