… Oh shit, we're doing one-month anniversary presents? I'm screwed over in the worst way. This could possibly be worse than when I was going to fail the Flying Test. I at least could run way from the Flying Test; here, I'm struck. He's in my room!

Oliver shook his head, obviously already nearly recovered, "I know you don't have anything for me; I planned for getting you this for Christmas, but you said no gifts, and this was just too perfect."

I sighed, finally giving in, "What was?" Smiling, Oliver pushed himself up, shaking his head and spraying melted-ice, also known as water, across the room. I flinched, laughing, but Oliver looked more excited as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, square box, "Here, open it now."

I rolled my eyes, "You're like a child, Oliver Wood."

Still, I couldn't help but be excited as I ripped the bit of wrapping paper up and threw open the box. I wasn't disappointed, but I wasn't excited by what I saw. A little pin of a raven, no bigger than an inch by an inch and a half. This is what he had to get me? Why, because I'm in Ravenclaw? That's horrible reasoning.

"It's small and inconspicuous, so you can wear on your book bag all the time," Oliver offered. Why is that so exciting? "But watch what it can do." Leaning over me to grab a piece of paper from my bedside table, Wood scratched at it with a quill, writing on it, before crumbling it up in his hands and muttering a word under his breath.

I grimaced, "Wood, what are you doing? That's my paper-" At my protests, Wood opened his hand to show me that the paper had disappeared, a sly grin on his face. My jaw dropped, "What did you do to my paper?"

With a caw, the raven pin started to flap out of the box and twirl around in the air before landing lightly on my shoulder before hacking up a crumpled piece of paper, magically expanding as it fell onto the ground. With a raised eyebrow, I looked up at Oliver, who was just smiling giddily.

"Open it," Oliver urged, "Go on, open it!"

I laughed, "You do realize it's my present, right?"

"Who cares, it's so cool," Oliver insisted, finally picking up the paper and shoving it in my hand, "It's the note I wrote! Now if I ever need to see you or tell you not to come to my office cause someone is there, I can!"

I giggled, "You're like a child. This isn't that exciting."

"It's brilliant," Oliver insisted, moving closer to probably show me some other crazy use of the pin when we both heard a knock on the door.

"Aly, honey? Are you ready for bed, yet?" My arm tensed as it flew to rake through my hair.

"Uh, almost, Daddy! I'm just…. Reading a card from my friends. Give me a minute," I called, trying to sound sweet.

'What do I do,' Oliver questioned as my jaw dropped, and I shrugged helplessly before pushing at him towards my bed. Oliver shot me an odd look, and I glared at him before shoving him to his knees and mouthing at him, 'under the bed!'

Since I never spent very much time at my house in England anymore, I didn't have a closet. That would be much more useful, but it's not an option so I'm not going to dwell on it. Wordlessly, Oliver fell onto his back and rolled under the bed. Thank the Lord he's just loud and not an idiot.

I glanced around, trying to make sure that there were no signs of Oliver in the room. Shit, wrapping paper. I leaned over, throwing the wrapping paper into the fire and grabbing the box before diving into my bed, almost forgetting not to move too much so Oliver didn't get squished.

"Alright, come on in, Daddy," I called back carefully. Oh, wait, shit, no, I should've let Oliver le-

My father walked in, a book tucked underneath his arm, "Are you ready, sweetie?"

I smiled carefully, "Yeah, Daddy." And with no other introduction, he sat on the edge of the bed next to me, opening the book and starting to read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas…' twelve times.

My father smiled as he closed the book, "Did you mind that horribly, sweetie?"

I bit my lip – my father loved reading this book to me, and since I went to Hogwarts I didn't mind anything that let me spend time with him. "No, no, why would you say that?"

"Well, you were squirming all through the story; I thought you might be getting bored."

"I'm just… excited for Christmas," I replied, smiling and shrugging guiltily. I'm such a Daddy's girl I sicken myself a little. But it's all of four months a year – I can deal with it.

My Dad smiled, obviously proud, like he knew I was a good kid cause I was still excited about Christmas, "Well then I'll let you get to sleep, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks Dad," I nodded at him, leaning back into my pillows and letting him kiss me on the cheek, "Night."

"Night, sweet." As my father turned and left the room, I let out a deep breath of relief. That is, until my father turned back, his eyebrows knitted, "Honey?"

"Yeah, Daddy?" Oh God, he knows. Oh God…

"Why is there a broom in your room? You hate brooms."

Oh… fuck. "Er, uh, F…uh…litwick… Professor Flitwick gave it to me. He thought I deserved a gift for, you know, passing the Flying Test and learning to fly on a broom. So he… gave me a broom."

"That's generous," my father commented before lifting the broom up and waving it around, "It's real high quality. Top of the line."

I nodded, "Yeah, yeah, real high grade; you know Flitwick – real dedicated to his students."

My father nodded, "Be sure to send him a thank you note."

"Of course, Daddy. Night."

"Night," my father muttered, putting the broom back onto the ground in front of the window, where a certain Scottish boy who is currently under my bed had left it. And no, there isn't more than one.

Another deep breath and my Dad closed the door to my bedroom, probably heading to take gifts down to the Christmas tree before he went to bed. Carefully, Oliver stuck his head out before scooting out from under the bed, flinching.

"Your broom, from Flitwick," Oliver raised a bushy eyebrow at me before standing, "And how many times did you two have to read that book?"

"Twelve times," I responded, "For the twelve days of Christmas."

Oliver rolled his eyes before leaning over me, planting a soft kiss on my lips, "Well, Happy Christmas, Aly, and a happy-one month anniversary."

My head spun around, Whoa. "Yeah, yeah, night."

Oliver smirked before spinning, "Keep the raven on you, aye?"

I smiled, feeling all too geeky, "Always."

Oliver threw one last heart-stopping smirk over his shoulder before flying off into the night; God, he's sexy. Why didn't I do this before? Oh, right, he's my teacher. Crap. I should also probably get him something – I mean, he obviously thinks this raven pin is the most awesome thing in the world, and it is pretty damn cool.

As I got up to close the window behind Oliver as he flew off, a paper flew under my feet. Glancing down, I saw the wavy, blurry, enchanted, title. Quidditch try-outs! Show your house spirit! I bit my lip, doesn't Oliver like Quidditch?

Alright, that's a dumb question, but would he like it if I tried to play Quidditch? Beaters are the ones with the bat, right? Aw, hell, Jay can teach me how to play, he was… was he a Beater for Hufflepuff? Or maybe he was a… goalie. Er, Keeper, that's the word.

But still, would he like it? It'd be, like, taking an interest in his interests, and all the sitcoms say that's amazing. Tom always just laughed at me when I tried to get interested in Quidditch, but maybe Oliver will think it's cute. Maybe he'll even… like it.

I think it's a chance I'm willing to take.

"So, Bryony, do you really think I have a shot at this," I questioned as I hovered next to her. Try-outs hadn't started just yet, and looking around all I see is a sea of testosterone and blubbery muscle. I feel really out of place, even if there are only six boys.

"Can you stay on your broom now?"

"Yeah, yeah O- Professor Wood," I corrected myself, hunching over in an attempt to escape the wind, "Always said I have good turning technique, and my brother taught me a little."

"Well, then you won't look like too much a fool – half of these guys were here for the first one. I think your only competition is little Abbott," Bry responded, "We considered him last time, but he didn't hit a target. Just don't fight with Elliot – everyone did last time. About his tactics."

I appraised the younger Abbot, whose first name Justin and who one of the only boys of a decent weight. "Alright, alright, be a suck-up. I should've brought flowers, or worn blue sweatpants."

"No, no, the last time Elliot paid attention to what we wear he was in third year and going through puberty."

I laughed openly, "You weren't even on the Quidditch team in his third year."

"Yeah, but I figure he went through it some time, so it was probably third year."

"Alright, you lot, line up!"

Bry reached forward and squeezed my hand, "Good luck."

I sighed, gripping the broom that had given me at the beginning of practice as I turned towards the captain, who was telling us just how this try-out would go. We would be playing with the rest of the team, to see how we all worked together, and there would be floating targets that we, one at a time, would have to hit the Bludgers at. We would also have to defend our players from the Bludgers.

At that, Elliot walked around to give everyone their bat, which would have a number to decide our order for us. Elliot paused as he saw my hand, "Darling?"

I shifted under his amazed stare, "Hey, Elliot."

Elliot, aka Ben, was a curly-haired blonde with a continuous tan and would probably be a surfer if he was a muggle. Despite this typically laid-back attitude, he was known for intensity on the field that couldn't rival Wood's, but was still a little scary.

"You're trying out to be a beater," he questioned, looking me up and down.

I reached a hand up to twirl in the hair hanging out of my ponytail, "Uh, yeah. Thought I'd give it a shot – it looks fun."

"Uh, yeah, just… be careful out there, huh," Elliot questioned, handing me my bat. Number four, right in the center.

"Alright," I responded, shifting again as Elliot gave the boy standing next to me his bat before starting again, mounting his broom and hovering.

"If it's not your turn, then sit on the bench. I won't call you – you have your numbers and you can see who is dismounting. Consider it your first test. Number seven – tell me when it's you getting on, so I can know it's time to end the practice."

Everyone nodded, and six of us trudged towards a muddy bench that was placed directly in front of a Ravenclaw stand. I counted the people carefully, almost continuously checking to see if I was next or not. Eventually, everyone got very annoyed with me, and it was a relief to everyone that my number came.

With short, slightly sporadic breaths, I mounted my broom, trying to simultaneously remember everything Oliver taught me, everything Jay taught me, and to breathe. Surprisingly, breathing was the hardest.

"I'm on," I screamed at Elliot as I glided passed him, and thus my try-out started.

And for quite a while, I cruised around, trying to figure out what to do. All the boys had started out by rushing towards the Bludgers, knocking them around at the floating targets. Of course, many of those boys either hit a player or hit themselves, neither or which look good. But does it look better to sit at the top of the pitch and squeal?

I probably sat there, deciding on a course of action before the first half of the try-out before hopefully looking to Bry. Maybe she could give me one more last minute tip, or something. But as my eyes moved towards her, just a little bit away, I noticed a startlingly fast-moving black object following my eye-line.

Oh my God, a Bludger is trying to hit my protégé! So I took off, hurrying for Bry and screaming at her to duck, as she was quite unaware of the Bludger. I made it to her what felt like just in time, swinging the bat wildly at the black ball of occult lead and feeling very much like a mother lion defending her cub.

It occurred to me mildly to try and direct it away from the group of players, and as a flash of red shot into the corner of my eye, I screamed and turned mid-hit, aiming for the red inadvertently. A few seconds later, with a sickening crash, the Bludger hit a floating target.

"Nice shot, Darling," Elliot called, pumping in excitement as he hovered halfway across the Pitch. With a sigh, I felt my body unwind. I mean, I just did something good, right? I'm pretty sure that was what I was supposed to do.

And more importantly, it was actually kind of… fun. The adrenaline rush is intense and I kind of… like it.