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lomonaaerenTitle: Forever, Undying
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Oliver Wood
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, Quidditch player Harry, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1000
Summary: Puddlemere United has lost their first game to the Falmouth Falcons since Oliver Wood became their Keeper. Oliver’s trainer isn’t pleased.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts” fics, very short stories being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice.
Forever, Undying
“What was that, Wood?”
Oliver winces as he strips off his robes and reaches tiredly for the spare ones that always hang on the hook next to his broom polishing kit. “You know the Falcons have been unbeatable all season, Aaron. Ever since Potter became their Seeker—”
“Yeah, well, maybe Potter would have succumbed to the injuries the Bludgers inflicted on him if you haven’t batted that one away from him!”
Oliver swallows. He really has no excuse for that.
“Well?” Aaron Flywell puts his hands on his hips. He wears scarlet robes that, at the moment, complement the deep red color his face is turning. “I’m waiting.”
“Harry and I were Gryffindor teammates at Hogwarts. It’s—instinct, seeing a Bludger going near him, to get it to go away.”
“As far as I remember, you won the Quidditch Cup your last year at Hogwarts, when Potter was also on the team.” Aaron’s eyes narrow. “In fact, I was in the stands watching that game. I don’t remember you leaving the Keeper’s hoops to bat any Bludgers away from him then.”
“It’s—sorry.”
Oliver doesn’t know how to explain to Aaron in words that he was hypnotized by the way Harry flew in this game. It’s the first one that Oliver’s faced Harry in, since he only recently became Puddlemere United’s main Keeper instead of their reserve. Harry, of course, when he announced his intention to join the Falmouth Falcons last year, got hustled into playing Seeker right away.
“Is it going to happen again?”
“No,” Oliver says determinedly. It won’t. It can’t. Just because Harry is a beautiful flyer and they used to be teammates doesn’t mean Oliver can give up every game to him. Quidditch is Quidditch. They have games to win.
“See that it doesn’t. Now, the next time we face that little bastard…”
Oliver nods and commits himself to the kind of listening where he can appear to be attending intently to Aaron’s words, and he’ll remember them well enough to revise them in the Pensieve later, but he’s mainly thinking about something else.
Mainly, Harry’s heartbreaking swoop down the pitch to grab the Snitch from right behind the ear of Oliver’s teammate, Candy Jenkins.
Oliver has never seen anything like it in his life, the purity and the cleanness of the line. Harry has a Firebolt, true, but this was about angle, not speed. Harry perfectly judged the moment and leaned over and grabbed the Snitch a second before Jenkins would have turned and seen it.
Oliver knows he ought to be angry about that. After all, Jenkins is his teammate. He certainly never lacked the drive to win at Hogwarts, no matter how much he liked individual people in other Houses. He should have it now.
But…
“Oliver!”
Oliver sighs, and resigns himself to paying closer attention to Aaron’s rant.
*
“Oliver.”
Harry’s voice is low and intimate, and Oliver would know it anywhere. He didn’t expect to hear it when he’s just stepped out of his house, though. He Flooed home after listening to Aaron’s entire rant, and decided that he wanted to walk instead of Floo to go get something to eat.
“Harry.”
Oliver can’t help trailing his eyes down Harry’s body as Harry approaches him. He’s changed out of his Falmouth Falcons robes, which is good. Anyone who sees them from a distance and recognizes Oliver won’t think he’s fraternizing with the enemy.
“Beautiful flying today,” Oliver offers, when Harry stops a short distance away on the Hogsmeade pavement and examines him.
Harry’s smile hits harder than a Bludger. “Do you think so?”
Oliver nods fervently. “The way you judged it—you were so close! You could have hit Jenkins! But it was so obvious that you weren’t going to.” He waves his hands around, wishing he had the words. “But you know that. You were the one who set it up.”
“Yes, I did. For you.”
“What?” Oliver stares at him blankly. For all that Oliver is a great flyer, he knows that he can’t come close to imitating Harry. He doesn’t even have a Firebolt. And anyway, Keeper and Seeker are different skill sets.
Harry bites his lip and eases closer. “You were the one who got me into Quidditch.”
“Professor McGonagall—”
“You were the one who showed me how much fun it can be,” Harry whispers. Somehow, he’s got close enough that he’s looking up at Oliver, even though they’re nearly the same height now, and his eyes are hitting Oliver with much the same force as his smile. “Even with your crazy training schedules.”
“Those schedules meant we won.”
“I know. And I got used to winning, what can I say?” Harry shrugs and eases still closer. “Which means I want to win now, too.”
“What are you talking about, Harry?”
“This.”
And Harry leans up and snogs him, and Oliver, idiot that he is, just stands there gaping with his hands out to the side for a few minutes before he grabs Harry and hauls him forwards.
Harry opens his mouth and gives Oliver everything he has, tongue and all. The way he did when he caught the Snitch in his mouth in the first game he ever played. The way that he gave Oliver everything he had in every game at Hogwarts.
How can Oliver help but respond?
*
They don’t walk into the Hog’s Head, where Oliver usually goes for his post-game meals, until more than an hour later, and Harry’s grinning, with hair more windswept than ever. Oliver can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
If they sit down across from each other and tap each other’s feet under the table, and if people stare at them and snicker and make jokes, Oliver honestly never knows. He can’t remember anything about that meal, what they ate or anything. What he remembers is the deep shine in Harry’s eyes.
Yes, they’ve both won.
Oliver could get used to this different kind of game, this kind of joy of seeing a perfect Quidditch move or winning a match stretched out, forever, undying.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Oliver Wood
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, Quidditch player Harry, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1000
Summary: Puddlemere United has lost their first game to the Falmouth Falcons since Oliver Wood became their Keeper. Oliver’s trainer isn’t pleased.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts” fics, very short stories being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice.
Forever, Undying
“What was that, Wood?”
Oliver winces as he strips off his robes and reaches tiredly for the spare ones that always hang on the hook next to his broom polishing kit. “You know the Falcons have been unbeatable all season, Aaron. Ever since Potter became their Seeker—”
“Yeah, well, maybe Potter would have succumbed to the injuries the Bludgers inflicted on him if you haven’t batted that one away from him!”
Oliver swallows. He really has no excuse for that.
“Well?” Aaron Flywell puts his hands on his hips. He wears scarlet robes that, at the moment, complement the deep red color his face is turning. “I’m waiting.”
“Harry and I were Gryffindor teammates at Hogwarts. It’s—instinct, seeing a Bludger going near him, to get it to go away.”
“As far as I remember, you won the Quidditch Cup your last year at Hogwarts, when Potter was also on the team.” Aaron’s eyes narrow. “In fact, I was in the stands watching that game. I don’t remember you leaving the Keeper’s hoops to bat any Bludgers away from him then.”
“It’s—sorry.”
Oliver doesn’t know how to explain to Aaron in words that he was hypnotized by the way Harry flew in this game. It’s the first one that Oliver’s faced Harry in, since he only recently became Puddlemere United’s main Keeper instead of their reserve. Harry, of course, when he announced his intention to join the Falmouth Falcons last year, got hustled into playing Seeker right away.
“Is it going to happen again?”
“No,” Oliver says determinedly. It won’t. It can’t. Just because Harry is a beautiful flyer and they used to be teammates doesn’t mean Oliver can give up every game to him. Quidditch is Quidditch. They have games to win.
“See that it doesn’t. Now, the next time we face that little bastard…”
Oliver nods and commits himself to the kind of listening where he can appear to be attending intently to Aaron’s words, and he’ll remember them well enough to revise them in the Pensieve later, but he’s mainly thinking about something else.
Mainly, Harry’s heartbreaking swoop down the pitch to grab the Snitch from right behind the ear of Oliver’s teammate, Candy Jenkins.
Oliver has never seen anything like it in his life, the purity and the cleanness of the line. Harry has a Firebolt, true, but this was about angle, not speed. Harry perfectly judged the moment and leaned over and grabbed the Snitch a second before Jenkins would have turned and seen it.
Oliver knows he ought to be angry about that. After all, Jenkins is his teammate. He certainly never lacked the drive to win at Hogwarts, no matter how much he liked individual people in other Houses. He should have it now.
But…
“Oliver!”
Oliver sighs, and resigns himself to paying closer attention to Aaron’s rant.
*
“Oliver.”
Harry’s voice is low and intimate, and Oliver would know it anywhere. He didn’t expect to hear it when he’s just stepped out of his house, though. He Flooed home after listening to Aaron’s entire rant, and decided that he wanted to walk instead of Floo to go get something to eat.
“Harry.”
Oliver can’t help trailing his eyes down Harry’s body as Harry approaches him. He’s changed out of his Falmouth Falcons robes, which is good. Anyone who sees them from a distance and recognizes Oliver won’t think he’s fraternizing with the enemy.
“Beautiful flying today,” Oliver offers, when Harry stops a short distance away on the Hogsmeade pavement and examines him.
Harry’s smile hits harder than a Bludger. “Do you think so?”
Oliver nods fervently. “The way you judged it—you were so close! You could have hit Jenkins! But it was so obvious that you weren’t going to.” He waves his hands around, wishing he had the words. “But you know that. You were the one who set it up.”
“Yes, I did. For you.”
“What?” Oliver stares at him blankly. For all that Oliver is a great flyer, he knows that he can’t come close to imitating Harry. He doesn’t even have a Firebolt. And anyway, Keeper and Seeker are different skill sets.
Harry bites his lip and eases closer. “You were the one who got me into Quidditch.”
“Professor McGonagall—”
“You were the one who showed me how much fun it can be,” Harry whispers. Somehow, he’s got close enough that he’s looking up at Oliver, even though they’re nearly the same height now, and his eyes are hitting Oliver with much the same force as his smile. “Even with your crazy training schedules.”
“Those schedules meant we won.”
“I know. And I got used to winning, what can I say?” Harry shrugs and eases still closer. “Which means I want to win now, too.”
“What are you talking about, Harry?”
“This.”
And Harry leans up and snogs him, and Oliver, idiot that he is, just stands there gaping with his hands out to the side for a few minutes before he grabs Harry and hauls him forwards.
Harry opens his mouth and gives Oliver everything he has, tongue and all. The way he did when he caught the Snitch in his mouth in the first game he ever played. The way that he gave Oliver everything he had in every game at Hogwarts.
How can Oliver help but respond?
*
They don’t walk into the Hog’s Head, where Oliver usually goes for his post-game meals, until more than an hour later, and Harry’s grinning, with hair more windswept than ever. Oliver can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
If they sit down across from each other and tap each other’s feet under the table, and if people stare at them and snicker and make jokes, Oliver honestly never knows. He can’t remember anything about that meal, what they ate or anything. What he remembers is the deep shine in Harry’s eyes.
Yes, they’ve both won.
Oliver could get used to this different kind of game, this kind of joy of seeing a perfect Quidditch move or winning a match stretched out, forever, undying.
The End.
