Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's character's. This is merely a work of fanfiction.

A/N: This is a No-Voledemort AU, Oliver Wood x Fem! Harry Pairing. Hope you enjoy:)

Heiress Hettie Potter sat down by the edge of the Black Lake. It was foolish to cry, she knew that, but she just couldn't help it. She wiped the tears that came quickly, and bit down on her lip. It was a terrible habit her father, Lord James Potter, was always trying to get her to stop.

Some things though, you just didn't outgrow.

Hettie knew that all too well.

It was what led to her current predicament.

She tossed the broom in her hands at the green lawn behind her, and winced as it made contact. Hurting her broom wouldn't help anything at all.

Hettie had fallen in love with Master Oliver Wood at the ripe old age of eleven, and never been able to get over it. He was strong, brave, funny, tall, and quick with a broom. He was her dream.

She had hid it well. Proper young ladies did not go about professing their love, they waited for a courtship offer, but Hettie was never particularly good at waiting.

She poured herself into the Quidditch practices where she got to spend time with him, despite the fact that he saw her as nothing more than a little sister.

Something about her time spent with Oliver reminded her of her relentless pursuit of the Snitch. He was always just out of reach, just beyond her grasp. Yet, unlike the Snitch, she couldn't seem to catch him.

She would have to wait for him to notice her.

During the summer holidays her father always invited both the current and past Gryffindor Quidditch teams to Potter Manor. They used the pitch on the grounds to play each other in a makeshift tournament each year.

As Hettie got older, she heavily suspected her father did it in an attempt to match make the former teams, though she couldn't prove it. There was almost nothing that he loved more than love itself.

When she asked he would only ever wink at her and deny any ulterior motive. "I simply love Quidditch and Gryffindor," he would tell her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. It was the same look he and Uncle Sirius got when they were up to no good.

Oliver had graduated after Hettie's third year, far too young for a courtship offer.

"Not that he'd ever send one," Hettie whispered bitterly as she got up to fetch her broom from the lawn. She walked to where it laid, but gave up and laid down next to it. She felt the warm sun hit her face, and the cold tears trail down her cheeks.

When Headmaster Dumbledore had announced that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, she knew it was the perfect thing to get Oliver's attention. Surely he would come back to Hogwarts to visit if she competed in the tournament.

Hettie saw Oliver fairly frequently, but it was never enough. Her father invited him to the summer games at Potter Manor, and he always came to her family's Yule Ball with his parents and brothers.

She had been convinced he would come to see her compete in the second task. Her father had invited him, because of course he had. Lord James Potter was nothing if not a romantic. The idea that someone did not adore his daughter was outside his realm of possibilities.

He even thought the lightning bolt shaped scar on her forehead that she had procured as a tot, was absolutely adorable. He had kissed it after healing her wound, and told her how precious she was. Uncle Sirius had teased her for a week about falling off of her broom

Hettie had stormed off after she completed the second challenge of the Triwizard Tournament. She didn't want to see her parents. She didn't want to be with her friends. She didn't want their well wishes. The only person she wanted to see wasn't here, so what was the point?!

She gripped her broom with her outstretched arm.

"Why don't you love me?" she whispered.

She heard the sound of someone laying next to her and shot up, opening her eyes. Oliver was laying in the grass next to her. He propped himself up on his elbows, and looked at her with scrutiny.

"I don't know who you're crying about, but they're not worth it."

Hettie scoffed and rolled her eyes. If only he knew he was talking about himself. He was worth it.

He was everything.

"I'm serious Hettie. No man is worth your tears."

Hettie bit down on her lip again. The Potter's didn't often abide by pureblood etiquette, but this is one line she wouldn't cross. She wouldn't declare her love for him first. She was certain her heart and mind would shatter, under the weight of disappointment, if he didn't return her feelings.

Oliver sat up facing her and tugged her bottom lip out from between her teeth. Hettie's heart raced at the contact, and her lip tingled. It sent a right of exhilaration through her entire body. The contact was over much too soon.

Oliver ran a hand through his brown curls and sighed heavily. He wanted nothing more than to draw Hettie into his arms, but was sure it would be unwelcome, not to mention improper.

She had always been so strong and happy. He had rarely ever seen her sad, let alone cry. Not even when she fell off her broom and shattered her arm in her Third Year. She had laughed and smiled like mad, because she had caught the Snitch before she fell, winning them the game.

"Where were you?" Hettie asked. He had assured Lord Potter he would be there. Oliver punched the grass. He hated himself for not being there for Hettie.

"A bludger fractured my clavicle in practice," he admitted, "they wouldn't let me leave St. Mungo's until it healed."

Hettie gasped in shock. She suddenly realized that he was still wearing his practice robes, and they were coated in dirt. She knew of course that he was playing for Puddlemere United, but it had never occurred to her that he might have gotten hurt in practise. He always seemed so strong, and sure. She had assumed he had blown her off.

"Olie, I'm so sorry!" Hettie cried as she launched herself into Oliver's arms. The force of her hug pushed him onto his back, and she huddled into his chest as she began to cry again.

'So much for propriety' Oliver thought. This would look more than a little bad if someone happened upon them. Oliver was overwhelmed.

He had waited to hold Hettie in his arms since her Seventeenth birthday, during the past summer. Lord Potter had approached him and told him rather pointedly that he was now accepting courtship offers for his daughter.

He had never seen her as an option for courtship before. 'She's just a friend,' he had always told himself. But he couldn't shake the words of Lord Potter, and he had found his eyes lingering on her longer than usual that night.

He was surprised by what he saw when he took the time to look. She was stunning. Her long black hair hung down to the small of her impossibly small waist. Her skin was tanned to a dark brown from flying outside all summer.

She looked stunning in Potter crimson, and he started to imagine what she would look like in a sash of his clan's tartan. When her emerald eyes caught him in their glance, he knew he was done for.

He was in love with Hettie Potter.

Despite all his Gryffindor bravado, he hadn't had the courage to tell her or to approach her father with a courtship offer. It felt like there was simply too much on the line.

What if she said no? What if she never wanted to see him again?

He couldn't stand that. He had grown so used to her. He was sure he couldn't go without her now that he knew she had stolen his heart.

"Don't cry love, don't cry," Oliver pleaded. Hettie cried even more earnestly. The thoughtless term of endearment stabbed at her heart.

He didn't love her.

Hettie pulled back and tried to marshal her thoughts. She swiped at her eyes, and Oliver's hands joined hers, wiping away the tears.

"Don't call me that," Hettie begged, and Oliver finched. He had never heard her voice so broken. What had someone done to her? Had some idiot boy broken her heart? He would hex whoever it was so badly they would wish they had never met her.

"Why? What do you mean?"

Hettie cast her eyes to the grass. She couldn't look at his face and see the rejection.

She couldn't do it.

"You don't love me. Please don't call me your love, it hurts too much."

Hettie tried to draw away. She had to get away from here. She was sure her heart was breaking. Her chest ached like someone had plunged a dagger into it.

Oliver's hand caught her by the back of the neck, and pulled her face close to his. He was done being a coward.

"I do love you Hettie. You're the only girl I've ever seen."

Hettie shook in his arms.

Could this be true? Could he truly love her?

"Do you mean that?" she asked softly. She needed to be sure.

"Of course I do," Oliver replied easily.

Hettie leaned in and brushed her lips gently against his. Oliver felt adrenaline shoot through his body as if he had just won the Quidditch Cup all over again. He pushed her away gently. He didn't want to compromise her honor.

"Was that?" he asked, his breath ragged.

"Yes Ollie," she answered, "it was my first kiss."

Oliver's heart soared. She had given him her first kiss, of everyone she could have chosen. Potter's only ever fell in love once. It was a well known fact. Hettie's own father had fallen in love with Lady Lily Potter nee Evans at the age of eleven, and never wavered.

Wait- did that mean?

"How long Hettie?"

Hettie's face turned a stunning scarlet. She couldn't pretend to not know what he meant. Oliver still held her in a close embrace. She tipped her forehead down to rest on his shoulder, and mumbled into his Quidditch robes.

"I can't understand you," Oliver chided.

Hettie turned her head slightly to the side and croaked out, "Since First Year."

Oliver let out a long breath. She had held up such a brave face for so long, despite his cluelessness. He would be eternally grateful for the honor of the Potters. Once she had fallen in love, she would have never forsaken him. It was just their way.

"I'm sorry I was so stupid," he responded, "I'll send Lord Potter the courtship offer in the morning. It's been sitting on my desk since the day after your birthday party."

Hettie beamed at him.

She had finally caught her Snitch.