Oliver wood imagine's

Too Much Potter

Everyone on the Gryffindor team knew you and Oliver were together.
Harry knew too — mostly because Oliver was terrible at hiding it.

He tried to be subtle.
He wasn't.

Whenever you showed up to practice, his posture straightened, his voice got a shade softer, and he did that thing where he tried not to stare at you but absolutely did.

But he was good about it. Professional. Focused.
Until Harry Potter decided that you were the best unofficial assistant coach Hogwarts had ever seen

***

Harry practically dragged you across the pitch by the sleeve.

"Y/N, can you watch my laps? You notice things Oliver doesn't."

You grinned. "I won't tell him you said that."

"I heard that," Oliver called from midfield, squinting like he wasn't sure if Harry was joking or not.

Harry didn't care.
"Y/N, come on! I need your help with my dive!"

Oliver's jaw clenched — just slightly — but he didn't say anything. Not yet. He watched the two of you walk toward the hoops together, his broom braced against his shoulder, brows drawn like he was analyzing a strategy, but actually?
He was just trying not to glare at a twelve-year-old.

Oliver thought it was cute that Harry took such a liking to you at first, but recently it's been getting to him. All Harry does is want to hang out with you and ask for your opinions....Oliver is the captain after all, so why wasn't Harry only going to his girlfriend? Oliver knew Harry was only 12 and was no real threat, but something began to brew within Oliver. What could it be? This was a new feeling?

Harry soared down from a perfect arc and hovered right next to you, panting and proud.

"How was that?" he asked, eyes bright.

"A lot smoother," you said. "Try shifting your weight earlier—"

Harry hung onto every word, nodding enthusiastically.

Oliver's voice echoed across the pitch:
"POTTER! If you're done flirting—"
He "joked".
"— We're doing a scrimmage in two minutes!"

You turned slowly.
"Flirting?"

Oliver turned just as slowly. He knew that wasn't a good idea to say that.
"I was joking."

Harry looked between the two of you, utterly confused.
"...Did he say flirting?"

"No," Oliver snapped. "I said footing. As in keep your footing. On the— on the— grass. Yes."

"We're on broomsticks," you said.

"EXACTLY! Which is why footing is crucial!"

Harry flew off, bewildered.

You stared. "You getting a little jealous, Captain?"

"I'm not jealous."
He said it so fast it was practically one word.
"I'm observing. Monitoring. Managing team dynamics."

Right. Sure.

***

Harry begged you to stay after practice to help him with one last maneuver.
Oliver was packing up equipment, pretending not to eavesdrop but very, very obviously eavesdropping.

Harry landed too close to you — not in a romantic way, just Harry being Harry — but Oliver was across the pitch in seconds.

"Amazing job today, Potter," Oliver said abruptly, placing a firm hand on Harry's broom to redirect him. "Really incredible. But Y/N's exhausted. She's got... things. To do. With me. Very important things."

Harry blinked.
"What things?"

Oliver opened his mouth. Clearly had no plan.
"...Dating things, Potter."

"Oh!" Harry's eyes widened. "Sorry, I didn't think about— wait, what kind of dating things?"

"GOODNIGHT, HARRY."

Harry yelped and hurried off.

You looked at Oliver, arms crossed.
"'Dating things,' huh?"

Oliver let out a long, suffering sigh and rubbed his forehead.

"I don't like that he takes all your attention," he grumbled. "And I know he's just a kid — I know he is — but he adores you and you adore helping him and—" He cut himself off, frustrated with himself.
"It's stupid. I know it's stupid."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"You're so cute when you're jealous."

He met your eyes, stubborn but honest.
"I refuse to believe that jealousy is the issue. I just... He takes up all your attention."

You smiled softly.
"I'm dating you, not Harry."

He blinked.
"...I know, but it's nice to hear it."

You leaned up and peppered him with kisses until you finally kissed his lips.

Oliver finally let out a smile he could not hold in

"Merlin, I'm so pathetic." He says with a slight laugh

"No," you said, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You're in love."

He made a small noise that absolutely meant don't expose me like this, but he didn't argue.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist and murmured into your hair:

"I still think he likes you too much."

"He's twelve."

"It's the principle."