I honestly have no idea where I came up with this, nor can I tell you why I
felt the need to post it. Make way for the weirdest pairing of the
century: Harry and Oliver!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Consider yourselves extremely, truly, and very very very lucky.
1 Quidditch and Companionship
"Harry! Hey, Harry! Over here!"
The raven haired, green eyed boy commonly known as The Boy Who Lived, or to his friends, The Boy Who Wouldn't Know Love If It Hit Him In The Face, turned around, confused. He could have sworn he'd heard someone calling his name, but he couldn't see anyone. And damned if he could figure it out by just the sound of the voice.
"Hssst! Harry, I'm right behind you!" said the now-clearly Scottish accented voice.
Harry obediently turned around again and came face to face with . a man in a Muggle hat and sunglasses; the last things he expected to see in Diagon Alley. A Scottish accent, now where had he heard one of those before? .
"Oliver! Oliver Wood, is that you?" he asked, recognition dawning on him.
"Shhhh, Potter, not so loud. I've become just famous enough for people to recognize me, sort of like they notice you. I swear I was being stalked by a couple of hags back there."
Harry laughed, "Ahh, yes. I do keep forgetting that I'm friends with an internationally famous Quidditch player."
Oliver grinned and pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them on the neck of his low-cut sweater. He'd grown just the slightest bit taller since Harry had last seen him two years ago, he was more toned, tanned as well. His eyes were the same, though. That same comforting hazel brown colors that Harry remembered nearly falling in love with.
"So, Potter," Oliver grinned wider, "Care to have lunch with me?"
* * *
"So what brings a Quidditch player like yourself to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked.
They were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, having had just finished eating, and now were waiting for their bill to come. Oliver looked over at the younger man from across the table, swishing around a beer. He looked into the amber liquid as if it held answers for him.
"Needed to get some new Quidditch robes. And a broom-care kit," he shrugged, "What're you doing down here?"
Harry sighed, looking into his glass of pumpkin juice.
"Looking for some familiar faces. Staying with the Dursley's is a lonely thing."
"You could stay with me," Oliver said suddenly, "I've got a game tomorrow, then I'll be hanging around for a week or so. . Living by yourself is a lonely thing."
Harry found himself stunned. He'd known Oliver for only three years, surely that was no ground for the older man to invite him to stay. A little voice argued that technically he had know Oliver for six years, but after seeing him briefly when he was fourteen, Harry had not seen or heard from the older boy until now. Now being his, Harry's, sixth year of Hogwarts, which meant that Oliver had to be at least twenty.
"Eh, sure. Why not?" Harry heard himself saying, "That'd be great. It'd be nice to catch up on things. Maybe you can give me some tips on how to get myself signed onto an internationally renowned Quidditch team."
Oliver grinned widely, tossing back the last of his beer.
"Brilliant! I've got a flat down here now, and it could use a house- warming party. It's a bit small, but it should fit the two of us nicely," he waved his wand and a ticket appeared on the battered table, "So we don't miss each other, come to the game. This should be a prime seat, and it'll get you into the lockers so we can leave together."
Harry picked up the ticket and pocketed it carefully.
"I'll be there," he promised, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The goblin waiter collected their money for the bill and they stood. Oliver placed his sunglasses on as he and Harry exited, and for a brief moment they stood side by side. Harry was pleased to note that he was now only a head shorter than the older man was, rather than being half his size.
"Well then, Potter," the Quidditch player smiled, "Be seeing you."
"Right. Tomorrow, then."
Oliver seemed hesitant to leave, as if trying to make an important decision. Then he seemed to come to a decision, launched himself forward to give Harry a quick hug and something that felt suspiciously like a kiss to his hair, and took off. Harry didn't move until he was shoved out of the way by an impatient wizard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next day, Harry arrived at the stadium nearly two hours early, anxious to see Oliver and his team practicing.
No you don't, that nasty voice in the back of his head informed him, You just want to see Oliver flying above you so you can get a good look at his bum.
Okay, Harry admitted to himself, maybe that was a benefit, but he did want to see the team in action anyway. He was allowed in after being thoroughly searched by a security guard, and he climbed to the top box where he would sit. The top seats were always the best, but he'd brought along his Omnoculars just incase. Finally he found his seat, and got a good look at the huge stadium.
There were the Chasers, tossing around the Quaffle, trying to get past the Keeper. There were the Beaters, beating the Bludgers furiously at each other. There was the Seeker, hanging about on the opposite end of the stadium, looking for the Snitch. And there was Oliver, the Keeper; blocking shot after shot cleanly. Through his Omnoculars, Harry could see the delighted smiles and the smug looks that lit up Oliver's face whenever he performed a good play.
"And boy does he look cute when he does that," Harry muttered, not realizing what he'd just said.
The practice continued for nearly an hour, then Oliver's team was shooed off so the other team could have a go. Simply to enjoy more flying, Oliver took a loop around the field, and noticed Harry waving wildly to him. He flew over and landed in the box, still hovering on his broom.
"Enjoying yourself, Harry?" Oliver asked.
"Definitely! You're wonderful out there!" Harry told him shyly, "You've really become a professional."
Oliver beamed at him. "Coming from the youngest seeker to ever grace the Gryffindor team, I take that as a compliment."
"Don't compare yourself to me," Harry moaned, "You're professional! I'm not even close!"
"But you could be. Just wait and see. When you graduate, you'll have teams all over you trying to get you to sign," the Keeper assured him, "Our Seeker has been talking of retiring sometime in the next twenty years, maybe you can get signed as reserve or something."
"That would be great . but at the moment I'm thinking of training to be an Auror or something."
Harry thought he saw a disappointed, or worried, look pass over Oliver's face. He convinced himself that it was just his hopeful imagination, because the older man soon smiled.
"Well then, Potter, I'll just have to keep wishing, won't I?" the Keeper asked, then looked at his watch, "Oh my! Look at that, it's near time for the game.!"
Sure enough, people were slowly filing into the stadium, looking for their seats. Oliver grabbed hold of his broom and smiled at Harry.
"I'll be seeing you after the game, right?"
"Of course! I've got some stuff in the baggage security," Harry replied, smiling as well, "Go knock 'em dead, will you?"
"I shall do my best," Oliver gave a sweeping mock bow, then looked up and winked, "Just so long as they don't drop dead from the sight of you first, O Boy Who Lived."
Then he Apparated away, probably to the locker rooms, leaving Harry behind, stunned and slightly irritated.
"They will /not/ drop dead at the sight of me," he huffed, crossing his arms and staring resolutely down at the field.
As if to disprove that statement, however, a young girl who had a seat in his box took notice of his scar, gave a piercing screech of disbelief, and fell in a dead faint. Harry groaned and hit his head on the back of the chair in front of him.
"This is /not/ what I had in mind when I came out for this game."
~ Finis, chapter one ~
So? Not too horrible, is it? Let me know, feedback results in more chapters! (Though you can bet there won't be more than three or four at the rate this is going. Aren't you just so happy now? ::smiles::)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Consider yourselves extremely, truly, and very very very lucky.
1 Quidditch and Companionship
"Harry! Hey, Harry! Over here!"
The raven haired, green eyed boy commonly known as The Boy Who Lived, or to his friends, The Boy Who Wouldn't Know Love If It Hit Him In The Face, turned around, confused. He could have sworn he'd heard someone calling his name, but he couldn't see anyone. And damned if he could figure it out by just the sound of the voice.
"Hssst! Harry, I'm right behind you!" said the now-clearly Scottish accented voice.
Harry obediently turned around again and came face to face with . a man in a Muggle hat and sunglasses; the last things he expected to see in Diagon Alley. A Scottish accent, now where had he heard one of those before? .
"Oliver! Oliver Wood, is that you?" he asked, recognition dawning on him.
"Shhhh, Potter, not so loud. I've become just famous enough for people to recognize me, sort of like they notice you. I swear I was being stalked by a couple of hags back there."
Harry laughed, "Ahh, yes. I do keep forgetting that I'm friends with an internationally famous Quidditch player."
Oliver grinned and pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them on the neck of his low-cut sweater. He'd grown just the slightest bit taller since Harry had last seen him two years ago, he was more toned, tanned as well. His eyes were the same, though. That same comforting hazel brown colors that Harry remembered nearly falling in love with.
"So, Potter," Oliver grinned wider, "Care to have lunch with me?"
* * *
"So what brings a Quidditch player like yourself to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked.
They were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, having had just finished eating, and now were waiting for their bill to come. Oliver looked over at the younger man from across the table, swishing around a beer. He looked into the amber liquid as if it held answers for him.
"Needed to get some new Quidditch robes. And a broom-care kit," he shrugged, "What're you doing down here?"
Harry sighed, looking into his glass of pumpkin juice.
"Looking for some familiar faces. Staying with the Dursley's is a lonely thing."
"You could stay with me," Oliver said suddenly, "I've got a game tomorrow, then I'll be hanging around for a week or so. . Living by yourself is a lonely thing."
Harry found himself stunned. He'd known Oliver for only three years, surely that was no ground for the older man to invite him to stay. A little voice argued that technically he had know Oliver for six years, but after seeing him briefly when he was fourteen, Harry had not seen or heard from the older boy until now. Now being his, Harry's, sixth year of Hogwarts, which meant that Oliver had to be at least twenty.
"Eh, sure. Why not?" Harry heard himself saying, "That'd be great. It'd be nice to catch up on things. Maybe you can give me some tips on how to get myself signed onto an internationally renowned Quidditch team."
Oliver grinned widely, tossing back the last of his beer.
"Brilliant! I've got a flat down here now, and it could use a house- warming party. It's a bit small, but it should fit the two of us nicely," he waved his wand and a ticket appeared on the battered table, "So we don't miss each other, come to the game. This should be a prime seat, and it'll get you into the lockers so we can leave together."
Harry picked up the ticket and pocketed it carefully.
"I'll be there," he promised, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The goblin waiter collected their money for the bill and they stood. Oliver placed his sunglasses on as he and Harry exited, and for a brief moment they stood side by side. Harry was pleased to note that he was now only a head shorter than the older man was, rather than being half his size.
"Well then, Potter," the Quidditch player smiled, "Be seeing you."
"Right. Tomorrow, then."
Oliver seemed hesitant to leave, as if trying to make an important decision. Then he seemed to come to a decision, launched himself forward to give Harry a quick hug and something that felt suspiciously like a kiss to his hair, and took off. Harry didn't move until he was shoved out of the way by an impatient wizard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The next day, Harry arrived at the stadium nearly two hours early, anxious to see Oliver and his team practicing.
No you don't, that nasty voice in the back of his head informed him, You just want to see Oliver flying above you so you can get a good look at his bum.
Okay, Harry admitted to himself, maybe that was a benefit, but he did want to see the team in action anyway. He was allowed in after being thoroughly searched by a security guard, and he climbed to the top box where he would sit. The top seats were always the best, but he'd brought along his Omnoculars just incase. Finally he found his seat, and got a good look at the huge stadium.
There were the Chasers, tossing around the Quaffle, trying to get past the Keeper. There were the Beaters, beating the Bludgers furiously at each other. There was the Seeker, hanging about on the opposite end of the stadium, looking for the Snitch. And there was Oliver, the Keeper; blocking shot after shot cleanly. Through his Omnoculars, Harry could see the delighted smiles and the smug looks that lit up Oliver's face whenever he performed a good play.
"And boy does he look cute when he does that," Harry muttered, not realizing what he'd just said.
The practice continued for nearly an hour, then Oliver's team was shooed off so the other team could have a go. Simply to enjoy more flying, Oliver took a loop around the field, and noticed Harry waving wildly to him. He flew over and landed in the box, still hovering on his broom.
"Enjoying yourself, Harry?" Oliver asked.
"Definitely! You're wonderful out there!" Harry told him shyly, "You've really become a professional."
Oliver beamed at him. "Coming from the youngest seeker to ever grace the Gryffindor team, I take that as a compliment."
"Don't compare yourself to me," Harry moaned, "You're professional! I'm not even close!"
"But you could be. Just wait and see. When you graduate, you'll have teams all over you trying to get you to sign," the Keeper assured him, "Our Seeker has been talking of retiring sometime in the next twenty years, maybe you can get signed as reserve or something."
"That would be great . but at the moment I'm thinking of training to be an Auror or something."
Harry thought he saw a disappointed, or worried, look pass over Oliver's face. He convinced himself that it was just his hopeful imagination, because the older man soon smiled.
"Well then, Potter, I'll just have to keep wishing, won't I?" the Keeper asked, then looked at his watch, "Oh my! Look at that, it's near time for the game.!"
Sure enough, people were slowly filing into the stadium, looking for their seats. Oliver grabbed hold of his broom and smiled at Harry.
"I'll be seeing you after the game, right?"
"Of course! I've got some stuff in the baggage security," Harry replied, smiling as well, "Go knock 'em dead, will you?"
"I shall do my best," Oliver gave a sweeping mock bow, then looked up and winked, "Just so long as they don't drop dead from the sight of you first, O Boy Who Lived."
Then he Apparated away, probably to the locker rooms, leaving Harry behind, stunned and slightly irritated.
"They will /not/ drop dead at the sight of me," he huffed, crossing his arms and staring resolutely down at the field.
As if to disprove that statement, however, a young girl who had a seat in his box took notice of his scar, gave a piercing screech of disbelief, and fell in a dead faint. Harry groaned and hit his head on the back of the chair in front of him.
"This is /not/ what I had in mind when I came out for this game."
~ Finis, chapter one ~
So? Not too horrible, is it? Let me know, feedback results in more chapters! (Though you can bet there won't be more than three or four at the rate this is going. Aren't you just so happy now? ::smiles::)