Notes: dear lord, it's been a while . . . Well, I hope you haven't
all been holding your breath for me, but if you have, I'll try to make it
up to you as best I can. For I have taken up the pen! . . . er . . . the
keyboard! And I have once again begun to work!
Disclaimer: see chapter one, please
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Two: Part One - Oliver's Plans
Waking up was often something Harry wished he never had to do, unless he was at Hogwarts. Waking up meant another day of servitude (of a sort) to the Dursleys and a day in the Muggle reality where he was not allowed to be himself. Waking up wrapped in Oliver Wood's arms in a big, soft bed with naught a sound save a few passing wizards and witches outside, however, that was another thing entirely. Something he wished he could do every day.
Wait a minute! Harry thought crossly to himself, I do not!
/Oh, yes you do. And you know it, so stop being a stupid git and admit it./
Okay.
/Finally./
I admit that I like waking up in a big, soft bed with naught a sound from anyone else.
/Damn./
Now go away.
/Fine. But I'll be back. You can't ignore me forever./
And why not?
/Because I *am* you./
Damn.
Harry sighed slightly, annoyed at the little voice that was his logical/emotional brain, and moved as little as possible, not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping Oliver. Not that it had anything to do with wanting to stay wrapped in the older boy's arms. He imagined that the former Quidditch captain didn't get much sleep these days; that was all. It struck Harry suddenly that he should be blushing and thinking of a way to get out of this new situation; that would be the normal reaction for a guy. But Harry Potter was hardly a normal person, and truthfully it felt bloody good to be where he was, so he simply brushed it away as irrelevant.
We will have to get up eventually, he though ruefully, if we're going to eat.
As if on cue, Oliver's face scrunched up into a sleepy pout as he opened his eyes, ready to greet the day. Warm brown locked on intense green and held for a few minutes until Oliver smiled sleepily, tightening his hold. Then he realized who exactly was held against his chest like a giant teddy bear and he blushed furiously, releasing him. Harry laughed.
"Mornin' Oliver. Sleep well?"
"Erm . . . yeah, well," Oliver said around a yawn coupled with embarrassment.
Harry laughed again, this time sounding slightly more awake. Neither boy made any moves to get out of bed just yet; both were still tired, though for different reasons. Finally Oliver's stomach growled and the two laughed slightly.
"I think it's time for the brekky, then," Oliver said merrily. "Everyone up and out!"
Harry groaned and rolled over, pausing only to pick up his glasses before he pushed himself off the bed. "Are you always this happy in the morning?"
"Only for you," the older boy replied.
"Cheeky."
"Only for you."
"I feel so special."
"You should. Now help me make the bed, will you?"
"You mean you don't have a house elf to do it for you? No spell to make the bed make itself?" Harry asked, feigning incredulity even as he moved to smooth the covers on his side. "I'm positively shocked!"
Oliver chuckled and tucked his half of the covers under his pillow. Harry followed his example, unusually pleased to have been able to make someone laugh. They finished the bed in record time, according to the Quidditch player, and headed to the kitchen. Once there, Harry took a seat at the small table and watched as his old Captain puttered around the kitchen getting their breakfast ready. The Scottish boy spoke over his shoulder while he got the necessary ingredients for . . . whatever it was they were having. Harry belated realized he'd forgotten to ask.
"Y'see, Potter, everything is done for us on the fly. I like the feeling I get when I come home, knowin' that *I* did it, in *my* house, an' no one else."
Harry nodded quietly, realized that Oliver couldn't see him, and said, "oh". He felt somewhat of a fool but relaxed seeing that the older boy didn't seem to mind. They chatted amicably while breakfast was cooked about this and that, school, Quidditch, what would happen after school, friends, and even some of the latest news in the Muggle world, news to which Harry responded with a demand of explanation. Apparently Oliver had made some friends during his travels and so had taken up an interest in non- magical happenings. Not that Harry was jealous that these Muggles had stirred this interest in Oliver, no, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. But he supposed that it could have been interpreted that way if the startled look on Oliver's face meant anything. He made a mental note to make sure that the misunderstanding was cleared up as soon as possible.
"So, Potter," Oliver said, stacking their dishes in the sink and charming them so they cleaned themselves. "What would yeh like to do?"
"You mean today?"
"Or tomorrow. I've got a week with yeh to meself, remember."
Harry looked quizzically at Oliver, but the other miraculously found something to busy himself with by the chiller, and so he did not see the matching blush to the one he wore stain Oliver's face. Instead of worrying about reading between the lines, which he figured would just get them both sick of each other and besides, they *were* just innocent comments, Harry settled on thinking of something to do. He wanted to do something that he and Oliver could enjoy together, but suddenly realized that he knew nearly nothing about his former Quidditch captain except that he loved the game.
"What do you recommend?" Harry finally asked. "You've lived around here a lot longer than me, you should know better."
"Erm . . . there's supposed to be a good theater just outside of Godric's Hollow, and I know of a nice place to eat in Hogsmead I'm not sure yeh've been to . . . " Oliver trailed off, looking embarrassed. "S'ppose I'm not really sure what yeh'd like to do."
"Theater and lunch, hm? Sounds lovely."
"It does?!" Oliver asked, as if he couldn't quite believe that Harry really thought sitting with him for an extended period of time would be fun. "I mean, well . . . I've never been there meself but . . . that is . . . I'm sure we can still get tickets."
"Brilliant. Let's head off then," Harry smiled, already pushing away from the table to put on his robes for the day.
Oliver followed the suit, dashing up to his bedroom while Harry went to the living room for his trunk. They met less than ten minutes later, neither needing much time to primp like a female might, and Oliver opened the door for Harry.
"After yeh, good sir," he said, mock chivalrous. He grinned down at the shorter boy, who smiled widely back up at him.
"Thank you, good sir. Am I to assume I will be lent an arm, as well?"
They both laughed and began the short walk from Oliver's flat to the theater. There would be a public fireplace for floo-transportation to the restaurant after the show.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author's Notes: All right, so that's part one of a two-part chapter. I know it's not a substance filled as some of my other stuff, but I'm too tired to think of anything else to write for now, and I really wanted to post this sometime this year. It'll get better with the next few chapters, promise.
Disclaimer: see chapter one, please
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Two: Part One - Oliver's Plans
Waking up was often something Harry wished he never had to do, unless he was at Hogwarts. Waking up meant another day of servitude (of a sort) to the Dursleys and a day in the Muggle reality where he was not allowed to be himself. Waking up wrapped in Oliver Wood's arms in a big, soft bed with naught a sound save a few passing wizards and witches outside, however, that was another thing entirely. Something he wished he could do every day.
Wait a minute! Harry thought crossly to himself, I do not!
/Oh, yes you do. And you know it, so stop being a stupid git and admit it./
Okay.
/Finally./
I admit that I like waking up in a big, soft bed with naught a sound from anyone else.
/Damn./
Now go away.
/Fine. But I'll be back. You can't ignore me forever./
And why not?
/Because I *am* you./
Damn.
Harry sighed slightly, annoyed at the little voice that was his logical/emotional brain, and moved as little as possible, not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping Oliver. Not that it had anything to do with wanting to stay wrapped in the older boy's arms. He imagined that the former Quidditch captain didn't get much sleep these days; that was all. It struck Harry suddenly that he should be blushing and thinking of a way to get out of this new situation; that would be the normal reaction for a guy. But Harry Potter was hardly a normal person, and truthfully it felt bloody good to be where he was, so he simply brushed it away as irrelevant.
We will have to get up eventually, he though ruefully, if we're going to eat.
As if on cue, Oliver's face scrunched up into a sleepy pout as he opened his eyes, ready to greet the day. Warm brown locked on intense green and held for a few minutes until Oliver smiled sleepily, tightening his hold. Then he realized who exactly was held against his chest like a giant teddy bear and he blushed furiously, releasing him. Harry laughed.
"Mornin' Oliver. Sleep well?"
"Erm . . . yeah, well," Oliver said around a yawn coupled with embarrassment.
Harry laughed again, this time sounding slightly more awake. Neither boy made any moves to get out of bed just yet; both were still tired, though for different reasons. Finally Oliver's stomach growled and the two laughed slightly.
"I think it's time for the brekky, then," Oliver said merrily. "Everyone up and out!"
Harry groaned and rolled over, pausing only to pick up his glasses before he pushed himself off the bed. "Are you always this happy in the morning?"
"Only for you," the older boy replied.
"Cheeky."
"Only for you."
"I feel so special."
"You should. Now help me make the bed, will you?"
"You mean you don't have a house elf to do it for you? No spell to make the bed make itself?" Harry asked, feigning incredulity even as he moved to smooth the covers on his side. "I'm positively shocked!"
Oliver chuckled and tucked his half of the covers under his pillow. Harry followed his example, unusually pleased to have been able to make someone laugh. They finished the bed in record time, according to the Quidditch player, and headed to the kitchen. Once there, Harry took a seat at the small table and watched as his old Captain puttered around the kitchen getting their breakfast ready. The Scottish boy spoke over his shoulder while he got the necessary ingredients for . . . whatever it was they were having. Harry belated realized he'd forgotten to ask.
"Y'see, Potter, everything is done for us on the fly. I like the feeling I get when I come home, knowin' that *I* did it, in *my* house, an' no one else."
Harry nodded quietly, realized that Oliver couldn't see him, and said, "oh". He felt somewhat of a fool but relaxed seeing that the older boy didn't seem to mind. They chatted amicably while breakfast was cooked about this and that, school, Quidditch, what would happen after school, friends, and even some of the latest news in the Muggle world, news to which Harry responded with a demand of explanation. Apparently Oliver had made some friends during his travels and so had taken up an interest in non- magical happenings. Not that Harry was jealous that these Muggles had stirred this interest in Oliver, no, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. But he supposed that it could have been interpreted that way if the startled look on Oliver's face meant anything. He made a mental note to make sure that the misunderstanding was cleared up as soon as possible.
"So, Potter," Oliver said, stacking their dishes in the sink and charming them so they cleaned themselves. "What would yeh like to do?"
"You mean today?"
"Or tomorrow. I've got a week with yeh to meself, remember."
Harry looked quizzically at Oliver, but the other miraculously found something to busy himself with by the chiller, and so he did not see the matching blush to the one he wore stain Oliver's face. Instead of worrying about reading between the lines, which he figured would just get them both sick of each other and besides, they *were* just innocent comments, Harry settled on thinking of something to do. He wanted to do something that he and Oliver could enjoy together, but suddenly realized that he knew nearly nothing about his former Quidditch captain except that he loved the game.
"What do you recommend?" Harry finally asked. "You've lived around here a lot longer than me, you should know better."
"Erm . . . there's supposed to be a good theater just outside of Godric's Hollow, and I know of a nice place to eat in Hogsmead I'm not sure yeh've been to . . . " Oliver trailed off, looking embarrassed. "S'ppose I'm not really sure what yeh'd like to do."
"Theater and lunch, hm? Sounds lovely."
"It does?!" Oliver asked, as if he couldn't quite believe that Harry really thought sitting with him for an extended period of time would be fun. "I mean, well . . . I've never been there meself but . . . that is . . . I'm sure we can still get tickets."
"Brilliant. Let's head off then," Harry smiled, already pushing away from the table to put on his robes for the day.
Oliver followed the suit, dashing up to his bedroom while Harry went to the living room for his trunk. They met less than ten minutes later, neither needing much time to primp like a female might, and Oliver opened the door for Harry.
"After yeh, good sir," he said, mock chivalrous. He grinned down at the shorter boy, who smiled widely back up at him.
"Thank you, good sir. Am I to assume I will be lent an arm, as well?"
They both laughed and began the short walk from Oliver's flat to the theater. There would be a public fireplace for floo-transportation to the restaurant after the show.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author's Notes: All right, so that's part one of a two-part chapter. I know it's not a substance filled as some of my other stuff, but I'm too tired to think of anything else to write for now, and I really wanted to post this sometime this year. It'll get better with the next few chapters, promise.