Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

Flight of the Fat Lady

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

The beginning of October brought with it slightly colder weather and the promise of a great Quidditch season. The Gryffindor team had a, in my young opinion, superbly wonderful captain by the name of Oliver Wood: brown hair, light caramel eyes, and a Scottish accent — it was no secret amongst my friends that I was rather captivated by the seventh year.

"He is just trying to be sure that we have the best year yet," I defended the boy proudly one evening at dinner, after a particularly long first session with the Gryffindor team.

Wood had brought the team together rather desperately that afternoon, and had practically begged us all to take his final year seriously. It was clear that he had one intention in mind — to win — and it seemed as though he had already been letting that drive cloud his judgment. He had spent the entire summer planning; new plays, new tryouts, and new tactics.

"No, Ria," Harry rubbed at his tired face, causing his glasses to go askew and nearly drop onto the table in front of him. He had his eyes closed tightly in annoyance as he continued, "He's gone mental — he doesn't want to graduate without a win, even if he kills someone to achieve it."

I scoffed at the mere idea, waving my hand in the air despite the fact that the boy couldn't see it. I leant over my plate of potatoes, intent on searching for the certain captain as my brain began to tick away at the memory of the previous school year.

I had always thought Oliver Wood was cute as a child, even before attending Hogwarts, but that is all it ever was: a small infatuation that made the older boy in question quite uncomfortable.

"He's not here!" said Harry loudly, nearly making Hermione — who had been sat beside him with a book in her hands — fall off the bench from shock. I turned my head to find that Harry was looking at me now. "He is most likely in his dorm, bent over that playbook where he will be until our next practice!"

Despite his slight over exaggeration, Harry had proved to be correct. The four of us hardly saw Oliver Wood over the next few weeks, only at designated training sessions which happened during rain or shine. After one particularly muddy evening, Harry and I found ourselves clad in bright red Quidditch gear as we walked together back to the castle — the argument over Wood still prevalent in our friendship.

"I fell off my broom, Ria, and he told me to walk it off!"

"Oh, you weren't even that high in the air!"

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement when we entered, which was a rather unusual sight. By this time, most students would have already tucked themselves in their beds to either sleep or finish homework. Instead, students our age and older clambered around us as we climbed through the portrait hole.

"What's happened?" asked Harry loudly over the chatter, our topic of conversation completely forgotten as we approached Ron and Hermione. The two were stood near the fireplace together, Crookshanks sleeping soundly in the girl's arms.

"First Hogsmeade weekend," said Ron nonchalantly, nodding his head to the battered old bulletin board at the front of the room — where dozens of students were huddled around. I could tell that my brother was excited, but he tried to swallow his thoughts of Honeydukes sweets in sympathy for the distraught look on Harry's face. "End of October. Halloween."

"Excellent!" Fred suddenly appeared, George beside him. Both twins looked the same as Harry and I: slightly damped and coated in grime. They were Beaters on the team. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of stink pellets."

Harry collapsed into one of the armchairs, a rather unpleasant expression on his face. He frowned as he sunk into the plush material, his eyebrows furrowed and his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat.