A/N: Written for the Back to School event on the Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments forum using the "question" prompt. Also written for Slash September (also at Hogwarts) using Harry (Harry/Oliver). Word count: 614
I Look Forward to It
Harry stood outside the Puddlemere United locker rooms, pacing back and forth. The press conference after the game had taken ages. Every reporter in Europe wanted to speak with the team after the huge upset they'd pulled off.
It had been a remarkable game that had kept Harry on the edge of his seat. He was just grateful that it had distracted him for a few hours from the question he'd set his mind on asking. Nothing was distracting him any longer.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The decor was atrocious. The colours on the hangings had faded; they were hardly recognizable as the team's colours any longer. He hoped someone would take care of them soon. Surely after such a stunning win they could afford some new decorations.
"Harry?"
With a start, Harry whirled around and found himself face-to-face with the Puddlemere United Captain and, if one was being entirely honest, the reason the team was doing so well: Oliver Wood.
"O-Oliver. Hi."
Harry raised one hand in an awkward wave before letting it fall back to the ground.
Oliver raised one eyebrow. Harry gulped as he tried to ignore the way the Muggle workout clothes Oliver had donned showed off his figure. Whether it was the difference of playing professional over school Quidditch or just a consequence of age, Oliver had come into his physique since he'd left school.
"You're still here?" he asked Harry.
Harry kept his focus on Oliver's eyes, willing himself not to look anywhere else for too long.
"I always wait," he pointed out.
It was true. He'd come to every single game that season and those of half the season before, and he'd met Oliver after each one. Not for long. Their after match encounters were never more than quick greetings and (increasingly) congratulations. Often times, they'd talk a bit about the game; more recently, Oliver had begun asking about Harry's work. They always parted ways within half an hour.
"Right," Oliver said, readjusting the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "But I didn't have two hours of interviews after those games."
Harry tried to ignore the amusement in Oliver's voice.
"Has it been two hours?" he asked, voice unnaturally high. "I hadn't noticed. Time really does fly."
Oliver hummed.
"I guess it does when you're not answering the same question for the tenth time."
Harry cringed.
"Yeah, I know what that's like. They still do it to me sometimes. There are questions I'm getting that they first asked me when I was a kid."
Oliver whistled.
"I suppose that's the price I pay for choosing to play professional—"
"Do you want to get coffee?"
Harry nearly slapped himself as soon as the question was out and Oliver was looking at him with a surprised expression. He recovered from his surprise rather quickly to grin at Harry instead, but by then, Harry couldn't look the other man in the eyes.
"Now?" Oliver asked.
Harry shrugged, scuffing at the floor with his shoe.
"I was thinking more like tomorrow evening."
"As friends?" Oliver asked slowly.
Harry shrugged again, partially turning his body away from Oliver in the process.
"Or maybe as a date?" he suggested.
When Oliver didn't answer, he chanced a glance at the other man's face and found himself locked in place by Oliver's smiling eyes.
"I'd love to go on a date with you, Harry." He took a step closer and leaned in as if they were conspirators. "Besides, I just played the best game of my life, and I need a hell of a lot more time than fifteen minutes to recount it."
Harry smiled.
"I look forward to hearing all about it."