HARRY POTTER IMAGINES

Quidditch Fiend: Oliver Wood X Reader

"Dad, I would think you of all people would understand that Quidditch can be just as beneficial as anything else," you argued with your father, who has brought up a few concerns about your lifestyle.

You were angry that he was berating you for spending "too much time on quidditch" and not "not enough time on your studies," when he was busy trying to become friends with students who had parents as successful seekers and keepers.

"For others, maybe, but don't you feel it'd be best to have a backup plan? Things like that don't always work out in the future," he tried to reason.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by his hypocrisy. "I'm the captain of the team, that's got to mean something to you. Obviously I'm quite good."

"Of course, Y/N, you're a brilliant player, but the professional world of quidditch is much more competitive than Hogwarts teams. It's lucky for someone to even become the broom polisher for those teams."

You sighed in frustration, knowing that he was right. But he didn't seem to understand that you weren't going to give up just because it was a difficult road ahead. It just meant that you needed as much practice as possible, to hone your skills for the future- even if it meant not studying as much as you used to.

He had distracted himself with paperwork and you took the opportunity to slip from his office, not wanting to continue the conversation. You just wanted to talk to the one person who seemed to understand your passion and determination for quidditch: Oliver.

It was getting late, and students had begun heading back to their dorms, but you knew where Oliver would be- he told you at dinner that he had an astronomy assignment to work on, and you had a feeling he wouldn't be finished yet.

Sure enough, when you arrived at the tower, Oliver's back was to you, his eye pressed against the narrow end of a telescope. His hand went to make a mark on his chart and you knocked on the door lightly.

He turned around quickly, thinking it'd be a teacher telling him to go to his dorm, but was relieved and happy to see you.

"Come to watch me struggle?" he joked, already forgetting what he had been about to write.

"More like come to complain about my father," you smiled, sitting in the floor near Oliver's workspace in front of the giant window. The darkening night sky looked down at you, moonlight shining on the marble floor.

"What's he done now, try to recruit you into his little club as well?" he smirked, knowing you hated the club of students with "promising futures" or "successful parents."

"Quite the opposite actually," you replied. He cocked his head in confusion and you elaborated, telling him how your father wasn't fond of your evident decision to pick quidditch over schoolwork.

Oliver sat down next to you, an arm wrapping around your shoulders. "That's insane."

"I figured you'd agree," you smiled. "How can he look down on it like that- like it's less than- I don't know- Divination or Ancient Runes. It requires skill and practice."

"Not even that- how can he not see your potential?" Oliver asked, and you blushed at the praise.

"I'm not that good-"

"Are you mad? (Y/N) you're brilliant! Obviously it's difficult to get on a professional team but if anyone can do it it's you," he said, looking at you intensely. You could hear the honesty in his voice and it only made you love him more. "I hate seeing you upset, especially over something you don't even need to worry about."

"Well it's hard to be upset when you're around," you said, looking up at him.

He leaned forward, giving you a quick, gentle, but romantic kiss. His hand caressed your face even after he pulled away, and you smiled against it.

"I love you, you know," you assured him. "Thanks for making me feel better."

"I love you, you quidditch fiend. And don't you forget it," he replied, giving your nose a playful kiss. The two of you cuddled together, viewing the stars. Your worries were miles away.