Oliver Wood stood in on the corner of a busy square in London, glancing around for his girlfriend, whom he’d been dating since his sixth year of school. Now they were 20 years old, Oliver being a professional Quidditch player, already plastered on the front page of the newspapers and Lena was, well, he didn’t know. This would be the first time he had seen her for three months since he had been at a tournament in Brazil. He checked his watch again. Where was she?
She had been a Hufflepuff, a student so smart he always said it was a wonder she wasn’t a Ravenclaw. She had tutored him when Professor McGonagall informed him that he needed to bring up his grades to keep playing Quidditch. She had tutored him for a year and a half, and when he passed his O.W.L.S., he had been so excited that he went up and snogged her in front of the entire Great Hall on the night they came back for sixth year. His friends thought he was insane, going out with an anonymous Hufflepuff instead of any fit Gryffindor. But he had pushed away their protests and in time they grew used to Lena.
Lena, who could answer any question, whether it was about wizards or muggles. Lena, who was kind to anyone, even Flint. Lena, who didn’t care what anyone said about her. Lena, whose parents had abandoned her when she was young. Lena, who had to take up the last name Ward because she technically belonged to Great Britain. Lena, who wanted to go to a muggle college so she could study to become a muggle doctor and become a great Healer. Lena, who supported him in every way. Lena, who loved him- and him her.
And there she was. Emerging from the crowd, with a small brown purse over her shoulder, tossing her black curls over her shoulder impatiently. Her brown eyes ran over the faces until she saw his and a faint smile crossed her features. When she was closer, he reached for her hand and took her to a fancy Italian bistro, one they had never been to before.
He pulled her inside and she pulled off her coat. It was a black peacoat, thinning with age. She refused to accept his offers for a new one, however, saying she might as well wear what she paid for.
“Hi, Oliver.” She said quietly after he had kissed her lightly.
“Lena, hi.” He chuckled as they made their way to their reserved table. Once seated, he asked her about the SATS, a muggle test she had to study for and take to try and get a scholarship for college.
“They were difficult. Kind of like N.E.W.T.S., but worse.”
“I don’t think anything could be worse than N.E.W.T.S.!” He exclaimed. “ Do you know how you did?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Its just a matter of weeks.”
“How did the job hunt go?” Oliver asked her. She had been laid off her first job at an apothecary and would be unable to pay her rent for her dingy apartment if she didn’t find a job soon.
“No such luck. But-”
“Lena, why don’t you just move in with me? I’ve got plenty of space, Plenty.” They had this argument before.
“I just can’t Oliver. You know that.” She refused to move in for many reasons. She would be a bother. She would get lonely. It was against her morals.
“Please, Oliver. No.” She closed her eyes briefly. The waiters took their orders and a few minutes later brought them salads.
Lena picked up a fork and dropped it. “Why is it so cold?” She gasped.
“It’s a chilled salad fork.” He told Lena. “this is a fancy restaurant, you know.” he whispered the last part.
“Oh.” Was all she said before she picked her fork up again and ate.
“ Here, Lena.” How he loved to say her name! “I got you something.” He slid a small box across the table to her.
She hoped it wasn’t jewelry. Not that what he bought her wasn’t always beautiful, but it was too much. Too much for her. She tentatively opened the box and saw a gleaming set of car keys.
“What-”
“Down the block. A 1962 Corvette. Red with chrome and white interior. Your dream car.” She used to go on and on about that car, showing him pictures even though she thought she’d never get it.
“Oliver, do you know what my renter would do if they found out I was driving a new ride around?” She asked sadly. “I took the subway here, Oliver. I’m taking the subway back.”
She slid the box back to him. “Okay. Okay.” He said, tucking it back into his pocket.
He leaned closer to the table. “I have plenty of money. If you ever need anything- anything at all-”
“Oliver…”
He glanced up at her somber expression. She wasn’t eating her alfredo pasta anymore. Her fork was laying on the tablecloth.
“Maybe you could come to one of our games! In Ireland or the States or-”
“No,” She shook her head. “We can’t do this anymore.” Her fingers gripped the tablecloth.
“D-do what?”
“We’re too different. You’re a Quidditch star, Oliver! You’re going places! Literally and figuratively.” She sighed sadly. “And I’m staying here.”
“I’m not leaving, Lena. I’m here.” He spoke quietly, desperately.
“All these people,” Her delicate hand gestured towards the people in the room. “They’ll all staring at you, glancing over their shoulders, wondering where you’re going tonight. Where are you going Oliver?”
“Lena, no one’s staring at me-”
“Where are you going tonight, Oliver? Someplace famous? Someplace exotic?” Her voice shook.
His eyes flitted closed, then open again. “France. We have a game on Monday.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her. Not yet.
She stood and leaned across the table, putting her mouth close to his ear. “The rest of us…really are suckers.”
She stood, picking up her jacket, but not putting it on and walked out of the bistro.
Walked out of his life. And she wasn’t coming back into it.
