the winner takes it all - oliver wood

03

Victoria took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs as she descended the grand staircase of Hogwarts. The stone steps were worn smooth from centuries of students, and each footfall echoed softly in the stillness of the early hour. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting brilliant rays that illuminated the ancient walls with a warm, golden glow. Dust motes danced lazily in the light, and for a moment, she allowed herself to savor the beauty of the castle, the heart of her education and her passion for Quidditch. Yet, beneath this momentary appreciation, a surge of anticipation coursed through her. The air was thick with the rich aroma of breakfast wafting up from the Great Hall, a blend of sizzling bacon, warm pastries, and fresh fruit that made her stomach growl in response.

As she made her way down the staircase, her mind was a whirlwind of strategies, tactics, and aspirations for the upcoming Quidditch season. Victoria's excitement mingled with a knot of nerves; she felt the weight of her responsibilities as captain pressing heavily on her shoulders. Would she lead her team to victory or let them down? The echoes of laughter and chatter grew louder as she neared the hall, each step heightening her resolve. She thought of her teammates, the loyal Slytherins who had rallied around her during practices, their faces eager and hopeful. They were counting on her, and the thought fueled her drive.

However, as she pushed open the heavy doors of the Great Hall, her heart sank at the sight of Marcus Flint and his group at the Slytherin table. The atmosphere shifted around her, the lively chatter fading into a tense silence as she caught Marcus's piercing glare. It was as if the air had thickened, each breath becoming more difficult under the weight of his scrutiny. His friends flanked him, their expressions equally hostile, arms crossed and smirking as if they were waiting for her to stumble. Victoria forced herself to keep her chin up, refusing to let their disdain seep into her confidence. With every stride, she focused on her determination, her inner mantra reminding her that she belonged here.

Navigating through the sea of tables felt like walking through a battlefield, each step met with invisible arrows aimed at her back. Victoria could almost feel their eyes boring into her, judging, waiting for her to falter. As she approached her usual spot at the Slytherin table, the familiar tension washed over her like a cold wave, but she pushed it aside. Without hesitation, she quickly grabbed a bowl of cereal, her fingers deftly moving as she poured milk over the crunchy flakes, trying to appear nonchalant despite the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

As she hurriedly ate, her mind raced with thoughts of tactics and formations, analyzing every move she could make to ensure her team's success. The usual cacophony of voices filled her ears—the clinking of cutlery, the shouts of students across the hall—but she found it hard to concentrate. With each bite, she quickly downed a glass of orange juice, the sweet tang refreshing against the backdrop of her anxiety. Still, even as she tried to focus on her meal, she felt Marcus's gaze linger on her like a silent challenge, heavy with judgment. It was suffocating. She could feel the scrutiny of his eyes as she chewed, her appetite waning under his unyielding stare.

"Just ignore him," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head slightly, as if that simple act could dislodge the weight of his presence from her thoughts. The clamor of the hall faded momentarily as she imagined herself soaring through the skies on a broomstick, the wind rushing past her, the cheers of her teammates filling her ears. She closed her eyes briefly, envisioning the exhilaration of victory, of leading her team to glory. But as the moment passed, she felt the tension creeping back in.

Finishing her meal at record speed, Victoria wiped her mouth and stood up, leaving the remnants of her breakfast behind like a forgotten memory. She could almost feel Marcus's smirk burn into her back as she turned to leave, but she refused to let him see her falter. She needed to escape the tension of the Great Hall, to immerse herself in the strategies that would define her season. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she headed toward the library, a haven she had always cherished for its silence and wealth of knowledge.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open as she stepped inside, the familiar smell of old parchment and leather binding enveloping her like a comforting embrace. The library was her sanctuary, a place where she could escape the clamor of her peers and focus on what truly mattered: her passion for Quidditch and the strategies that would give her team the edge. She loved the way the quiet felt like a blanket around her, muffling the noise of the outside world. The shelves towered above her, filled with countless tomes, each holding secrets and wisdom waiting to be discovered.

Finding a secluded table in the far corner, Victoria opened a thick book on Quidditch tactics used by different Hogwarts houses in the past. The pages were yellowed with age, a testament to the countless students who had flipped through them, searching for inspiration. She could feel the weight of history in her hands as she flipped through the pages, her heart racing with possibilities. Each tactic she read about ignited her imagination, and she began to analyze how they could apply to her own team. Her thoughts raced, envisioning plays and formations that could turn the tide of a match in Slytherin's favor.

Just as she was getting lost in the strategies, she heard footsteps approaching. Without looking up, she braced herself for the interruption, expecting a fellow Slytherin or perhaps one of the curious first-years who often wandered into the library in search of knowledge. "Hey, what book are you reading?" a deep voice broke through her concentration, pulling her from her thoughts like a splash of cold water. Victoria glanced up to see Oliver Wood standing there, his brow furrowed with curiosity.

Surprised by his presence, she quickly masked her initial reaction. Oliver was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, a fierce competitor, and someone she would need to outmaneuver in the coming season. Instead of answering, she lifted the book slightly, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the cover. The title read Quidditch Tactics: A Comprehensive History, and she could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. "A good read for a Quidditch captain," he said, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent of challenge, knowing that she was likely evaluating his commitment to the sport.

She returned her attention to the pages, hoping to brush off the encounter and regain her focus. "I'm Oliver Wood," he continued, breaking the silence with a hint of confidence that rubbed her the wrong way. Victoria remained silent, refusing to engage. "Victoria Williams," she replied coolly, without taking her eyes off the book. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken tension, a palpable rivalry igniting in the atmosphere. He seemed to linger, his gaze persistent, as if he was trying to decipher her thoughts and intentions.

"Making plans?" he ventured, his tone probing, as if hoping his question would prompt her to look at him and share her strategies. But to his surprise, she finally set the book down, leaning back in her chair with a defiant air. She crossed her arms, the gesture almost protective, as if she were guarding her thoughts from him. "Look, Wood," she began, her voice steady yet laced with irritation. "I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly why you're here. If you're going to try and get any kind of idea about what my team is going to be doing or how they'll be playing, then good luck."

Her words came out sharper than she intended, but the need to assert herself was strong. The thrill of challenge coursed through her veins as she locked eyes with him. Oliver felt a surge of frustration rise within him. He had expected her to be open to discussion, to strategize and gather intel on their impending rivalry. "I'm not here to spy on you, Williams," he retorted, trying to keep his tone measured, but the irritation seeped through. Yet his words fell flat as her expression hardened, the line between them drawn in the sand, a barrier neither was willing to cross.

As she stood up with brisk determination, he watched her approach Madam Pince, asking if she could check out the book. "Why does she have to be so difficult?" he thought, feeling a flicker of anger flare within him. He was accustomed to friendly banter and discussions among his teammates, not this icy wall she had erected. As Madam Pince handed her the book, Victoria turned to Oliver, a fierce glint in her eyes. "Good luck at practice, Wood," she said, a sardonic smile tugging at her lips as she brushed past him, leaving behind a charge of unresolved tension.

The moment felt electrifying, charged with a rivalry neither had anticipated. In that brief exchange, a hatred had blossomed—Oliver despising her for her refusal to engage and Victoria resenting him for his relentless pursuit of information. Each felt the weight of the other's presence, a constant reminder of the impending competition that awaited them both. As they returned to their respective corners of the school, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words, they were unknowingly on a collision course that would shape the Quidditch season and define their identities in ways they couldn't yet comprehend. The battle had begun, and with it, the stakes had never been higher.