(A/N: Not much to say. Only that this is more the direction the story will take. Enjoy. Thanks again Age.)
Chapter 9
The next morning the Twins breakfasted with an obviously distracted Oliver.
"Did you see her?" He stared into space, pushing his eggs around with his fork. "That hair, that skill, that ferocity, wow! What a player, what a woman. Did you see her?"
"Yes, Wood, we saw her," moaned Fred.
"And we're well aware of what a grand player she is."
"Geez," scoffed Fred, "you'd think he was dissatisfied with us."
"Yeah, what are we, chopped liver?"
"You know what I mean. You blokes are great and all, but she's…"
"A girl," said George.
"A pretty girl," added Fred.
"Yeah," Oliver blushed, "well, that's beside the point."
The twins laughed as Rhia came towards them smiling.
"Good morning Darling," George said standing to greet her with a kiss. "Good news I presume?"
"Very good news, good morning chaps." She sat down beside between Fred and George and looked slyly at Oliver.
"Good news about what?"
"About Emma of course."
Oliver's face was bright pink. "What about Emma?"
"Come one Wood, do you honestly see me being able to keep anything from her? Look at that face," Rhia smiled and batted her eyes. "Could you hide something from her?"
"George I'm going to kill you."
"Not when you here what I have to report," Rhia teased.
"Report? What do you have to report?"
"I believe her exact words where…oh yes…Oliver Wood is the single most attractive person I've ever seen."
The Twins burst into laughter. Between fits Rhia made out something about "Wood, attractive, daft, and too many bludgers to the head."
With a flick of his wand both boys were covered in their own pumpkin juice.
"Are you certain?" Rhia nodded. "One hundred percent certain, because I don't make a move unless you're sure she's interested."
"She's adores you Oliver. Yes I'm sure."
"Great then."
Plucking up all of his courage Oliver approached the Hufflepuff table where Emma was sitting alone writing a letter.
"Hello."
"Dia duit," she said without looking up. "Oh," she looked up realizing who'd spoken, "I'm sorry. I meant to say hello."
Oliver laughed. "No, no. I know what you said. Tuigim gaeilge shimpli."
"Ah," she smiled, "Tir gan teanga, tir gan anam."
"Exactly. You speak it fluently?"
"It's a bit of a requirement in my family." She held of her letter. "My grandparents, I kind of get in a mood when I'm writing them. They speak very little English, and read less than that."
"You filling them in on the match?"
"Yeah, my grand-da was so excited to hear I'd made the team. He played beater for Ireland when he was a lad."
"Really."
"Yeah, came very near to winning the world cup his last year, but the French seeker got the snitch before they could secure a sufficient lead."
"Sounds familiar."
"Yeah, I thought he'd enjoy the irony of the situation."
"Well, for what it's worth you made that match as close as it was."
"Nah, the team did that."
"The team," Oliver scoffed, "I've watch the Hufflepuff scrape by in matches since my first year. Ced's a good captain, he was doing well with Rhia and Harley…but you….well, what you did was a miracle. I mean, you were so fierce. I've never seen a beater as ferocious. I only wish you'd been sorted a Gryffindor."
"A Gryffindor, me? It would never happen. I'm not Gryffindor material if you know what I mean."
"Well, you could have fooled me. So," Oliver slyly changed the subject, "any plans for next weekend?"
"You mean the next Hogsmeade weekend?"
"Yes, that's what I meant by next weekend," Oliver was blushing and Emma was enjoying that.
"Nothing, besides going to Hogsmeade."
"Well, would you like to go with me, to Hogsmeade I mean."
"Oh I don't know, I mean so many people have asked." Oliver looked a little disheartened. "Only joking Oliver, I'd love to go with you."
"Really?" She smiled and nodded. "Alright then, slán agat."
"Slán leat."
After an anxious week of bashful greetings and jokes from their friends, Emma and Oliver met in the Great Hall on Saturday morning. Quietly they made the trip down the hill to Hogsmeade.
Silence stopped when they reached the quidditch shop where a Firebolt shined in the window.
"What I'd do to have one of those."
"Wait til you've ridden one. I love my Cleansweep but it doesn't even compare."
"You've ridden one?"
"Yeah, Potter let the whole team have a go on his."
"Imagining things you'll never be able to afford eh, Wood." A voice mocked from behind.
"Mind your business Flint."
"What's this," Flint teased. "Oh Wood, you're not actually out with a Hufflepuff are you?"
"Seems to me that this 'Hufflepuff' gave you quite a match from what I can remember. She knocked you from your broom what, six times."
"Seven," laughed Emma.
"Why you little…" he raised his wand at her. Oliver quickly moved in the path.
"Let's go Emma, Rhia and the Twin's will be waiting for us."
Emma turned around briefly as they walked away. Whispering something under her breath she made a small wave with her hand.
As Flint made a step to follow them he fell forward. Looking down to his feet through a face full of snow, he saw that his shoelaces were tied together.
"Stupid bitch doesn't know who she's messing with."
Lunch was fun. Emma liked hanging out with Rhia and the Twins, and of course Oliver. Fred, she could tell, was a little off, but she assumed it was Harley's absence that soured his mood.
"Any word from Harley," she asked him during a loll in the conversation.
"Aye, she's well. She's spent the last week at her da's, but she expects she'll be moving along soon. I told her about the match. She's very impressed, says she couldn't have asked for a better replacement."
"I hope she doesn't have hard feelings over that. I'd never wish to take her place."
"She knows. She left instruction for Cedric to find a suitable replacement. She's pleased you're doing so well."
Emma and Oliver bid the others farewell as they finished their lunch. Exiting the Three Broomsticks Emma was struck in the face by a snowball. Taken aback she tried to figure out where it had come from. Oliver, it seemed, was quicker.
"Flint, you git, you'll pay for that."
"Expelliarmus," Flint called and Oliver's wand went flying. Oliver stepped forward, "Incarcerous." Thick bands of rope bound him.
Emma drew her wand "Expell…"
"Expeliarmus," Flint was too quick for her. Her wand went flying.
"Let's see how tough you are with out the wand little girl."
"Beithíoch." She bent to untie Oliver.
"Stand and face me you bitch."
Emma didn't look at him. She went about freeing Oliver.
"Incidere saeta," Flint cried angrily and a beam of red light hurled from his wand toward Emma.
Emma raised her hand. "Cosain," the curse crashed against a wall of green then disappeared. "Láithreach." Flint fell backward, as if pushed. "Slat draíochta," she called and her wand leapt back into her hand. "Reducto," she said pointing her wand at Oliver's bindings.
"Thank you. What just happened?"
"Flint was being a prat," she offered her hand and pulled Oliver off the ground.
"But you, I saw, I thought…"
"What?"
"Nevermind. Let's go back to the castle."
The walked past Flint, still lying stunned on the ground.
"Titim gan éirí ort," Emma spat as she walked by.
The walk was silent as Oliver tried to figure out what he'd just witnessed.
Hand magic, he thought, though it was nothing like he'd ever seen. Her words were old, he knew it must have been some form of Irish magic long forgotten. He wanted to ask. Would she tell him? Would she show him how? Had he really seen anything at all?
( Irish translations are as follows and have come from a mix of three websites: http://freepages.genealogy. and duit – God to you (basically hello)
Tuigim gaeilge shimpli – I speak simple irish
Tir gan teanga, tir gan anam – A nation without a language is a nation without a soul.
slán agat – goodbye (to one who is staying)
Slán leat – goodbye (to one who is leaving)
Beithíoch – beast
Cosain – shield
Láithreach – Push
Slat draíochta – wand (lit. magic wand)
Titim gan éirí ort – may you fall without rising
The Irish spells are very simple because I figure old magic would be magic in it's simplest form.
Incidere saeta – intended to cut her pleats (braids) off (made this up myself with a latin translator
