Fun fact: The colors Aly saw in the very first part of the story, her first dream (back in the dream) actually have a lot of meaning; they all stand for things that will happen in the story (losely, mind you.)

Wood was in the professor's area of the Hospital Wing for about three hours before Madame Pomfrey told him he was allowed to go. He left with a mild concussion and a potion to take for the next day with meals. I was in the Hospital Wing for five hours because I became hysterical when someone told me that I'd given Wood a concussion. I left with a splitting headache and a very stern look from Madame Pomfrey for taking up one of her beds.

It was what happened in those two hours that shocked me. Sure, I was out like a light because the newest nurse in training, horrified at the idea of a hysterical Head Girl rampaging around the hallways handing out detentions like it would save her from the wood nymphs, cast an intense stupifying charm on me, to the point that I fainted and didn't come to until two hours after Wood was given permission to leave.

But... he didn't leave. When I woke up, he was sitting right next to Ben, under the pretense that he wanted to make sure I knew he was alright. I wished I could say I knew better – everything happened so fast in the Pitch that I couldn't be sure I'd actually heard Wood right.

When I woke up, I was shocked to see both my visitors. Ben was sitting casually, as was his nature; his back was arched, one ankle resting casually on the opposite knee as he played with his tongue and his cheek. His curly hair played with the sunlight, almost twinkling in it's sunny brilliance.

Nothing about Wood played, though – he was hunched over, elbows placed firmly on his knees and his face smacked between his palms as he kept his eyes glued carefully to my feet. He was sitting further from me than Ben, but he'd scooted his seat closer to my bed and out of the light shining in from the window. His face was full of jagged shadows that almost looked like battle scars, and his face was... pensive. Worrying. Nothing like Ben's carefree expression.

Neither of them realized I was awake until I jumped at the sight of Wood, surprised by the fact that he was sitting next to me. It almost seemed like a horribly cruel dream in technicolor – the kind that make you believe they're real, and you wake up disappointed.

Wood cleared his throat as our eyes met, "Miss Darling; one hell of a swing, you've got."

I smiled shakily, pushing myself into a sitting position and pressing my back against the wall, wanting to run my hands through my hair but knowing better. Like when Ben had asked me out, I settled for wringing my hands in my lap and flipping my hair every so often, "Thanks."

"You're one hell of a Beater, Darling; I'm sorry I'd ever doubted you." There was a moment of silence when Wood looked at me with a meaning, and my breath hitched. The heart started to beat more quickly, and the suctioning in my chest started.

Ben, completely unaware, ruined the moment epically, "And to think you said she shouldn't play, Professor Wood." Ben clapped Wood on the back, knocking his eyes out of contact with mine, and I quickly inhaled, before I forgot how as Ben, "You said she'd be the one to get hurt. Shows how much you know, huh?"

Wood and I both took a second to respond to Ben's loud, almost bountiful laugh. I giggled weakly, but Wood just nodded, "Shows how much I know."

And with that, Wood stood, turned on his heel, and left. It was... brisk, and I knew I shouldn't be interested, but I couldn't help it as I watched him walk out the door. I just had to know.

"How long was he sitting here with you?" I glanced at Ben, trying to seem inconspicuous and curious. Like I don't have personal stock in the answer. Like I haven't totally fallen for the guy who taught me how to fly.

"About two hours, since Pomfrey said he was free to go. Said he wanted to make sure you were alright, and let you know he was fine too. Strange, but I guess that's just the kind of guy he is, right?"

I let my eyes trail to the door, now very much closed without so much as a hint of Wood having been there. "Yeah, yeah, that's just the kind of guy he is."

And in that moment, everything became as clear as crystal; I didn't care about Ben. Even as he went on about the game, and tidbits of stories he had heard about the after party, I really didn't care. And I knew if it was Wood, Oliver, talking to me, he'd have my undivided attention.

The honest to Merlin truth was that I didn't love Ben; I barely even liked him. Sure, he was a nice guy, and I could see myself hanging out with him, but.. he wasn't Wood. He'd never told me he craved me, of all things. He hadn't taught me to fly or put up my hair for me because I was too scared to take my hands off the broom handle. He hadn't flown through a blizzard just to give me a pin, and then sat through my father and I reading through 'T'was Night Before Christmas' twelve times. Ben just taught me how to take out my anger at my ex-boyfriend on a Bludger.

The honest to Merlin truth is that I'm the tiniest bit in love with Oliver Wood. And I'm not going to dwell on my commitment issues, which will just have to dealt with later, because it's a little freeing to know that you actually love someone.

"Uh, Ben," I interupted, completely intending to be rude about this, "No offense, but this just isn't working."

Ben's brow furrowed, and his head cocked to the side, "Huh?"

"This, us," I gestured between us helplessly as the reality of the situation quickly weighed down on me; I really hate breaking up with people. As Tom is an example of, it usually doesn't... end well. "I... I gave it a chance, but I'm still kind of hung up on someone else..."

I trailed off, and Ben attempted vainly to fill in the blank, "Tom?"

I shook my head, "You don't know him. I met him this summer. I, I just..."

And much in the same way Wood had not five minutes ago, Ben stood, turned on his heel, and walked out of my life. I'll send him a note saying that I'm quitting the team, if I decide to. It could be fun – having an excuse to be with Wood in public every now and then.

A blush rose to my cheeks as I realized that I didn't care about breaking up with Ben at all, even when he slammed the door to the Hospital Wing childishly. Because the truth was still hitting me, shoving away the nasty feelings of guilt. I was doing him a favor anyway, right?

Besides, that doesn't matter. I love Oliver Wood.

I blushed, my hands running into my hair as I turned and shoved my face into my pillow. I wanted to scream it; I wanted to run around and tell everyone who was willing to listen; I wanted to rub it in all the Woodies' faces, and only care a little when they cried.

Instead of screaming words, I screamed gibberish into my pillow that I pretended meant, "I love Oliver," in some ancient, magical language. Of course, as I screamed the words aloud, they became real, and then I realized that everything was all wrong with them.

Mostly because I was certain that Wood didn't love me back; he didn't even want me anymore.

And the most convincing theory I've ever heard rammed itself into my head at that moment – when Wood said it would be easier for both of us at the Pitch, he meant it was awkward for him to see me pining over him. I'm not an especially good actress, I doubt I hid it well.

And with that, my heart sunk, my head following it as I shoved my face further into the Hospital Wing's pillow. He didn't care about me at all anymore. No more than he did for any of the other players.

So now I'm back to step one – no boyfriend, wanting Wood back more than anything else. Great. Now if I just shove my wand in my eye my day can be complete.

Wood's POV

I fell against my office door as I closed it, slightly annoyed with myself as I pressed my back painfully into the hard wood. I'm... absolutely nutters. She would know I was alright based on word of mouth alone. And to tell her she was good at Quidditch – do I want her to keep playing? No. It was hard enough, imagining all the ways she could get hurt, all the ways she would fall off her broom. And I'd be responsible – I taught her to ride; I couldn't make her stop.

Not to mention it would kill me to see her, week in and week out, with that... boy. I didn't want to think is name, even if I knew it. I knew all the Quidditch captians, a necessity of the job. But it's hard enough for me to admit he was a person. I knew Aly was hurting – she moved differently. She was quieter with her friends.

I'm not egotistical enough to think it's because of me, but I can hope. I just want to know I'm not alone in all this; it's easier for me to live with this heavy burden if I know she's right there with me, only without me. It makes it more pointless, but then easier. Frustrating, and yet calming.

My eyes closed of their own accord, and I could almost smell her on me. It was my imaginings, I'm sure – even if that was the closest we'd been in what felt like so long, I still hadn't been close enough to be able to smell her on me a few minutes later.

She was hysterical when she thought I was hurt.

I groaned again, falling to the floor in front of my door and banging my head backwards to try and knock myself out, as stupid an idea as that might be due to my most recent Quidditch injury. Really, all of this is just plain ridiculous. I must have lost my mind – who cares at all about some silly seventeen year old girl? She's beneath me, really.

And somehow I know that isn't true – Aly is everything I wish I could be. She's strong and she's smart and she's standing against Voldemort, even if it might bring about her death, or the death of someone she loves. She's got convictions, and I'm just a big coward.

A breeze blew through the office through the window I'd left cracked open, and it blew around a few pages of the book on my desk, and my heart stopped for a brief second. I'd forgotten that I'd been reading before the Quidditch game. The best poems and sayings of William Blake, hand chosen and written by one Aletta Darling. She even doodled a little cover for me. She claimed any man who liked her had to like William Blake – they were a packaged deal.

I should've burned the book already; it's not like it brings about anything I want. It just reminds me of her in every conceivable way. I love the book, like I love her.

I swallowed thickly, careful not to think her name. Love and her name shouldn't be in the same sentence; it's just too... hard. To think of me loving her, and to know that I was sent here to recruit her to the one cause she despises – to know I'm a part of what she despises. I don't think she loves me, and for that I'm grateful; I'm not one bit of good for her. I had to break things off before she got too serious. I'm serious enough for the both of us.