Oliver: framed by rows and columns of Honeyduke's confections, a feast for eyes and tastebuds. The wrappers all reflected the pastels of the emerging spring from a periwinkle blue to the chrysanthemum pink making the aisle resemble a row of tulips.
Oliver's frame took up half the aisle and every other customer had to find a way to squeeze by. Oliver tried to be polite, sucking in air and flattening himself against the displays. One elderly woman had even hit him with her handbag to get him to move. The constant need to minimize his presence was wearing on him, so I bought us a couple of chocolate frogs and lead him out into the street.
Before we arrived in Hogsmeade, I had envisioned me trotting after him to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but he was working hard to restrain himself and encouraging me to take the lead. He tried to keep his conversation natural as I started down the street that lead to the shop. We were almost there when he stopped abruptly.
"Before we go on, I have something to tell you."
I turned to face him and I could see how his eyes were evading mine. I cocked my head to the side to show that I was listening.
"You can go in if you want." I said with a smile, head tilting toward the store.
His expression remained strained.
"We're meeting up with Sean and Quincy."
At the mention of their names I was transported back to the last time I had seen Oliver's brothers, seated at the kitchen table next to this mother.
Ever since deciding to throw caution to the wind and take what I wanted, I had determined not to dwell on what would happen when the school year ended. I wanted Oliver to succeed more than anyone, but I was not yet convinced that his success in quidditch after Hogwarts meant we could not stay together.
His brothers seemed well-intentioned and I am the first to admit how much their advice had helped me improve my quidditch form. I knew, however, that they were beacons. If they knew about what was really going on between Oliver and I, that meant his parents either knew, or would know very soon.
I swallowed hard and looked at Oliver. "Do they know about... us?"
We had still never talked about what was happening between us, as if naming it would would lift the spell. We simply continued to let it happen. We knew we were happy in each other's presence, but so far we had enjoyed this infinite bubble of just the two of us. Now, the pitfalls of the outside world were becoming clearer on the path before us. My throat constricted and went dry.
Noticing my furrowed brow, Oliver said, "Just do what comes naturally."
That was it? Thanks, coach. He had dodged my question as expertly as I'd seen him dodge bludgers on the pitch. Doubt began to gnaw at me. What were we, anyway? I couldn't just let it go.
"Is that a no, then? Your brothers don't know that we make out in the changing rooms after practice and..."
I stopped when I saw that his eyes were not looking at me, but fixed on a point farther down the street.
"Sean, Quincy!" Oliver waved down to a pair of figures, one lean and one wide, ambling up the street.
Now I was mad. He gave me no warning about this entire situation and he cut me off in the middle of my question. As if he could feel the extra heat rising off of me, he caught my eyes and knitted his brows into a pleading look.
Watching the two figures coming toward us, nothing seemed "come naturally" anymore.
Feeling like we were standing far too close together to be anything other than... whatever we were... I stepped forward to close the gap between the brothers and myself.
"It's so good to see you!" I said, throwing my arms into the air and pulling them into a hug. The brothers were taken aback by my enthusiasm, but after the words had left my lips, I realized that they were true. I was happy to see them and feel their stiffened forms cradled in my awkward hug. In Oliver's time of final strategizing, having his brothers' help would be indispensable.
After I released them, Oliver performed his own brotherly greeting that involved some shoulder patting and back slapping. I took the opportunity to make eye contact with Oliver over their shoulders and threw him him a look of tight-lipped warning that said, "this is not over." His eyes expanded slightly and he looked away.
Now a group of four, we trooped our way toward the Hogshead. Not as cozy as the Three Broomsticks, but it would be much less crowded and the brothers would have much less of a chance of being recognized for their quidditch fame. I lagged two steps behind and eavesdropped on their exchange of news. Oliver regaled them all with the tale of our win against Ravenclaw omitting, of course, the finer details of the after party. Quincy had been playing more in the professional games and spending less time on the sidelines. Sean brought up the subject of a new extra-sticky brand of quaffles that still managed to stay within the legal regulation requirements for international quidditch.
In all their chatter, they never even asked each other about their personal lives even though the brothers had not seen each other in months. The omission was curious. I would think that two decent-looking professional quidditch players would have no shortage of interested witches and tales of misadventure.
Once inside the Hogshead, the three brothers and I had our pick of tables
We hunkered down toward the back and awaited our ordered butter beers. The smiles on all three of the boys' faces brightened up the room. Our corner had a musty smell, and I silently hoped beyond hope that the stickiness on the surface of the table was from a spilled drink that hadn't been cleaned properly.
Quincy began reminiscing about an incident from the boys' childhood where Sean had decided to have a laugh by placing a sticking charm on Oliver's broom. Not wanting to admit anything was wrong, Oliver had, apparently, continued to fly around on the broom until twilight telling everyone that he was working on his form.
His mother was pleased with the initiative until Oliver said he wanted to skip dinner. This is when she finally clued in that there might be something wrong about Oliver's determination to practice his flying maneuvers as he never missed a chance to eat.
Their mother had demanded that Oliver come down at once. He did, but, he told their mother that he could not dismount, so she marched right up to him, placed her arms underneath his armpits and heaved.
A rip sounded as Oliver's robe and pants were partially left behind on the seat of the broom. All three of the boys laughed about the story, following it up by peppering in some of their favorite details.
"And Ollie's face got so red I though he had just eaten some pepper mints." Quincy punctuated with a snort.
"Remember how it was so quiet after he was pulled off and we could hear Ollie's stomach growl?"
The tips of Oliver's ears turned pink, but the tenor of his laughter joined with the deeper tones of his two brothers.
"I like to think it's what made him the keeper that he is today- impossible to unseat." Sean nudged his shoulder.
With no idea if I was being tactless, my own burning curiosity pushed me to ask, "What did your mum do to you?" The laughing slowed and all three boys leaned forward again, shoulders hunched up about the table.
"Made us do the same flying routine Ollie did that day, of course. Challenging us to do it better than him. Ollie got the whole next day off, so we had to all keep drilling until after dark while Ollie would come out every now and then with some sweet or other and eat it right in front of us."
"And you well-deserved it." Oliver chuckled and the two other boys shot him elastic grins.
A surly waiter sloshed over their order and they all settled into a silence after taking their first sips. For a few moments all anyone could hear was the sips of the butter beer. Oliver was the first to re-open the conversation.
"How are they?" he asked, his voice holding back as if he didn't really want to hear the answer. He didn't even name them.
Quincy and Sean gripped the handles on their mugs and exchanged a look. Without answering the question, Quincy said, " A letter came for you."
Oliver's head snapped up from where he had been focusing on the swirling foam. My eyes bounced back between him and Quincy trying to probe the depths of what was brewing beneath the surface.
"Mum opened it." Sean added.
He looked to Quincy as if passing the next step of the news onto him. "News about the Gryffindor team heading to the finals has reached the department of magical games and sports. They are... interested in you."
"They're sending scouts for a few different teams to come watch the final," Sean said, finishing the thought.
For a family as quiddtich-obsessed as the Woods, the news was delivered in such a solemn way that you would think they were announcing the death of a cherished family pet. Judging by the looks they were all giving each other, the true meaning of what had passed was clear to all three boys, even if I felt like I had a giant question mark floating above my head. They all held the key to the code and, not wanting to butt in with the stupid questions, I kept my mouth shut and placed a supportive hand on Oliver's forearm.
It was what came naturally.
This gesture was not lost on the other two brothers whose eyes followed the movement and lingered on my hand.
Oliver swallowed hard. "Which teams?"
"No idea." Sean said, taking a dainty sip of his butter beer. Oliver nodded, jaw clenched.
It hit me that the pressure that came with that news must be immense. The other two brothers were now sitting on the other side of that moment, already having found success by securing their place on a professional team. With two successful older brothers, Oliver must be afraid of being disowned if he didn't impress.
More silent sips. I had nothing more to contribute and I began wondering why Oliver wanted me here. I felt guilty as if I was peeking into the inner-workings of the Wood family, helpless to offer anything. It all felt so voyeuristic.
Lost in my musings, the conversation moved on without me, touching on other promising hopefuls from other wizarding schools and house teams.
After another loud silence, Oliver excused himself to go to the bathroom and, in the work of a moment, I found myself face to face with the two brothers I had barely spoken to. Sean was looking at me, head tipped in curiosity and Quincy was watching Oliver's retreating back.
As soon as Oliver passed through the door, Quincy spoke up as if he had been waiting for just this moment. "Katie, I don't have much time, but I didn't want to do this in front of Oliver."
Sean leaned in to join the conversation and Quincy lowered his voice and continued. "I don't know exactly what is going on between you two, but I have a quick warning and a request."
I nodded with vigor to let them know they had my full attention.
"First, the warning. I'm sure you gathered from your short visit to our home that our mother has... certain ideas about Oliver's future."
"All of our futures," Sean muttered. Quincy waved a hand and continued, "She is not kind to people she feels will jeopardize this. Sean has just learned this the hard way." Sean nodded, his lips pulled into one serious line.
"I don't know how much she knows about you two, but downplay it as much as you can in front of her and be careful. Our mom isn't a bad person, she just..." Sean cast a nervous glance toward the corner where Oliver had disappeared and nudged Quincy, who got the hint. Whatever you wanted to say about the Wood family, they kept their strategy in focus at all times.
"Quickly, number two. Oliver seems to trust you by the way he talks about you in his letters."
My cheeks tingled with heat, but I managed a nod.
"He is going to need your help in more ways than one. Will you promise to help him? Please? It would make us feel better knowing he had someone here he could count on. We know how hard it can get."
I nodded and opened my mouth to agree, but Sean cut me off, "Can we write to you? To check in?"
Footsteps were falling on the cracking wooden floors. I looked into both of the brothers' faces, their eyes were wide and pleading, their bodies taut awaiting my affirmation.
"Of course," I whispered just as Oliver whirled back around the corner. I realized how conspiratorial we must look with our heads so close together, lost in the heavy silence that comes only with having just talked about someone who walks into the room.
Oliver's eyes darted between our faces, his forehead pinching into a questioning look.