Biscuits And Broomsticks {Oliver Wood}

Rough Game

Freya gazed up at the grey sky, grateful that the storm clouds were moving away, and adjusted the scarf around her neck. She was waiting for Oliver to finally emerge from the lockers, prepared to console him after Gryffindor's loss.

Even though it had been no one's fault in particular, the presence of Dementors on the field was as surprising as it was terrifying, Oliver was a rather sore loser.

He had been relieved, of course, that no one had gotten severely hurt. Relief that quickly turned to frustration and then outright anger at the match having ended prematurely.

"Oliver, it's been ages," she called from outside the tent, "are you all right?"

There was no response and Freya frowned, listening to the barely discernible sound of water running in the showers. 

"You're not seriously going to make me come in there, are you?" She tried to sound stern, but her voice faltered. This match had meant everything to Oliver. It was quite possibly the worst start to a Quidditch season in Hogwarts history and it certainly didn't bode well for his last year.

The water stopped and there was a shuffle of footsteps followed by the slam of a locker. She stepped beyond the tent flaps, entering the changing room where the team prepared for games.

"You don't have to talk about it, but would you at least come out?" Her gaze drifted across the board where strategy had been drawn up and the pile of brooms stacked carelessly next to it. Everyone had been in a rush to leave the pitch.

As Freya looked back towards the lockers Oliver rounded the corner. His pale complexion was cherry red from the heat of the shower and his hair was still dripping wet. 

The look of defeat on his face was enough to break her heart.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm so sorry," she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around his lean form.

"What are you apologizing for? It wasn't your fault," he mumbled into her shoulder, "wasn't anyone's fault, really."

Freya pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, "Did you hear that Cedric offered a rematch? Given the state of things it only seems fair--"

Oliver shook his head, brow furrowed, "A game is a game, whatever happens. We're just going to have to try that much harder for the cup."

A pleasant smile graced her features and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked, confusion mingling with his frown.

"For staying true to yourself, or rather the sport, but I suppose that's sort of the same thing."

Oliver managed a chuckle and tightened his embrace, breathing in the scent of rain on Freya's hair.

"You know, I think we've missed lunch, but I could probably convince the house elves to spare us some leftovers. What do you say we spend the afternoon stuffing ourselves and avoiding everyone?"

"Sounds wonderful," he admitted, not yet ready to face the rest of his teammates.

"Well, go on and get dressed then," she put several paces between them, "can't have you wandering around shirtless."

He smirked, "you weren't enjoying the view?"

Her answer came in the form of a Chaser's glove that hit him squarely in the face.

__________

They had just made it off the Quidditch pitch when Freya spotted a group of Slytherins loitering on the grounds. Marcus Flint was among them and Oliver's gaze darkened as they drew closer.