This one is about our favourite lovable, quidditch maniac ~

Professor Flitwick, as loveable as he was, had quickly become my least favourite teacher. Now that was saying something – especially because I had fallen in love with Charms since my first lesson and from first year onwards he had become my favourite Professor in the school. He even trumped my head of house. But Professor Sprout had no reason to know that.

It had taken one decision of his to suddenly make him my least favourite. And that one decision had been the person he'd assigned to be my Charms partner for the term. Now normally I had no issue with Professor Flitwick picking partners for us, but everyone knew that in seventh year, the partner you were given was the person you'd have to carry out your final year project with. And who had I been lumped with? Resident quidditch maniac Oliver Wood.

Helga help me, I'd never get the man to focus on the project when quidditch was occupying his mind. But I wasn't going to let him interfere with my grades – I was going to get an outstanding on the final exam and was going on to become a healer. I was going to break away from my surname and was going to become something more than a reflection of my brother and father.

With those words as my resolution, I waited until the lesson came to an end. When it did, I packed my things slowly and gestured for my friends to go ahead without me. Once they had left the room, I looked around the room in search of Wood. He was heading out of the classroom, chatting to Percy Weasley as he did so. Hurrying to pack the rest of my things, I quickened my steps, weaving my way through the crowd of students as I chased after him.

"Wood," I called out, making the two stop in their steps.

Wood looked over his shoulder, eyes falling onto my figure as I stood away from him. Without looking back to Percy, Wood gestured for him to leave without him. Closing the distance between us, he came to a stop a few feet away from me.

Looking down at me expectantly, he pushed his bag further up his shoulder, "Is there anything I can help you with, Vosper?"

"It's about the project," I explained, frowning a little when he chuckled after I had spoken. Was there something funny in what I had said?

"You don't mean that you want to start it now, do you?" He shook his head in disbelief, "Come on lass, take a moment to breath. We can start the project after the Easter holiday and still submit it in time."

"It's due in a week after the holiday!" I protested, "You can't rush the project and cram it into a week. We'll never get an O that way."

"No-one said that we need to get an O." I narrowed my eyes at him; maybe he didn't need to get an O, but I did. "You're beginning to sound like one of the Ravenclaws. We can still get an A and pass."

"I need to get an O," I said firmly, using the no nonsense voice I'd learnt from my dad. His eyebrows rose in surprise; but why shouldn't he be surprised? I was the sort of person that rarely spoke but he was pushing my buttons today. "I need to get an O to be able to join the career path that I want – so don't take that attitude. Not when the work you do will be directly linked to me."

"Fine, lass. Calm down." He raised his hands in surrender, the gesture was more patronising than it was calming.

"Look," I couldn't help but sigh. "All I'm asking is that we get the project started so we can get the grades we need."

"Well we can't start it now," he insisted, "We're at a crucial point in the quidditch season. The Gryffindor team took a battering during the Christmas term."

Of course; quidditch.

"Well maybe you should have trained them better," I threw back. He looked thoroughly offended but I hurried on, before he could say anything else. "Look if it's such a crucial time, then why don't we get it started and get it over with quickly. At least that way you'll have to spend less time worrying about this project too and you can focus more time fuelling your quidditch obsession. Why don't we meet in the library Saturday morning? You can spend the rest of the day doing whatever you want."

"You drive a good case Vosper, but I can't – I've got quidditch practice."

I was losing my patience with him – he wasn't even trying to be cooperative. But wait – was this because of what I'd said to him at the start of the year? If I found out that it was, then I was going to give him a verbal lashing. But I had no way of knowing if it was so I dismissed the thought.

"All I'm asking for Wood, is for you to give this project even a fraction of the enthusiasm that you have towards quidditch – just a fraction."

"You're asking for the impossible," he said apologetically before he bid me goodbye and headed off in the direction of his common room.

I was left staring at his retreating back and only when I knew that he was out of earshot did I let out a groan. Merlin, if he messed with my grade then I was going to kill him – there's a reason that you're not supposed to mess with a badger. But what was I supposed to do now?

God I hated quidditch players.

**********

The answer to scheduling our meeting/research session appeared to be found through bothering Wood. It didn't take much – I just had to write a letter to him every day to ask when he would be available to work on our project. But, I had to admit that I thought the thing that had the greatest effect on making him change his mind was the fact that I had gotten the Weasley twins in on it. I had only asked them to bug Wood into working on our project and they had been all for it. My desperation was so extreme that I had even offered to pay them for their services, but they had told me that bugging Wood wasn't a chore for them – it was a pleasure.

I didn't know what they had done but whatever it was, it had almost instantaneous effects. The morning after I had asked them for the favour, I had come down to the great hall for breakfast when an owl had dropped a letter off in front of me. It had been from Wood who had suggested some potential times for when we could meet and I had penned a quick reply to the man, lest he decide to change his mind again.

We were supposed to meet the next day in front of the library once we had finished our lessons for the day. Or rather that had been the plan.

When the next day had arrived, I had found myself waiting outside of the library with no sight of him. The anger simmered under my skin and I was tempted to hunt the arrogant man down and hex him into smithereens but I was a Hufflepuff and that wasn't what we did. Instead I'd just settle for being extra petty towards him.

With strengthened resolve, I headed into the library and had started to conduct the research on my own. Overall my research session had proved to be fruitful and that was merely because my frustration towards Wood was fuelling me. Was he really going to make me chase after him? Merlin, I had practically needed to grovel with the man in order to get him to simply arrange a research session and then he had the nerve to not turn up?

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind as I waved my wand over my notes, duplicating them for Wood. Taking his set of notes, I scribbled down the aspects of the project that I needed him to research – because I was not going to be the one to do all of the work. Packing up my things, I made my way towards the Gryffindor common room.

The man had some major explaining to do.

The reason for him being a no-show presented itself when I arrived at the Gryffindor common room just as the Gryffindor quidditch team made their way into the common room. I let out a sharp sigh; he had to be joking.

Pursing my lips, I approached the team who had noticed my figure. Wood, standing at the front of the team, was the first to notice my presence and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Walking away from the team, he gestured for the others to head into the common room as he approached me.

Tapping my foot pointedly, I eyed his approaching figure. He came to a stop in front of me, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Avoiding my eyes, he looked down at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, lass," he began to apologise but I wasn't taking any of it.

"Here." I thrust the notes into his chest with unnecessary force, "This is your copy of the notes that I made today. Look over it and there's a list of the things you need to research at the end of them. Do your bit and then return the notes to me."

"Wait a minute," he called out as I turned to walk away from him.

Ignoring him I continued on my way towards my common room; I couldn't deal with him right now. Part of me wanted to demand what reason was so important that he couldn't have even told me that he wasn't going to turn up. But the uniform he was wearing was enough of an answer. He jogged to catch up to me, dropping into step with me.

"I'm sorry," he apologised again, walking beside me. "Really lass – I forgot to owl you and reschedule the meeting."

"I'm sure you did," I muttered dryly, eyeing him dirtily from the corner of my eye. "I just don't understand why you scheduled a meeting at the same time as your quidditch practice."

"I didn't." At my look, he winced as if he knew that what he was going to say was going to annoy me more. "Ravenclaw was supposed to have a practice today but it got cancelled – and well, we've got a game coming up and the pitch was free so I decided to schedule an extra practice. The team needs to train as much as we can."

He had assumed correctly; his words had only annoyed me more.

"Merlin," I muttered with a shake of my head. "This is why I hate quidditch."

He looked personally offended by my words and I sped up slightly to hint that I wanted him to leave me alone. But Wood was either too thick-headed to notice or he simply didn't want to notice and matched my pace. Was he planning on walking back to my common room with me, or something?

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you for a while," he started as if to get my attention.

"What is it?"

"Why didn't you want to go out with me when I asked you?" His sudden question stumped me, making me stop in my step. Wood, surprised by my reaction came to a stop beside me and continued to explain, "It's not that I assumed you'd say yes – it's just that you didn't even let me finish asking you before rejected me."

"You asked me at the beginning of year," I said with blatant confusion, "Why bring this up now? Has this really been on your mind for that long?"

"I just wanted to know the reason," he explained defensively.

"The reason? It's simply really." Hiking my school bag further up my shoulder, I levelled him a flat look, "I don't date quidditch players."

**********

Wood actually turned up to our next research session. Although, even I had been unaware that we were going to have another research session.

But, then again, the entire thing had been concocted in Wood's mind. Somehow, he had known when I was going to be in the library next – although I was shamefully predictable – and had walked over to my table and made himself comfortable. I hadn't realised it was him at first, I hadn't even looked up to see who it was because it wasn't strange for people to make themselves comfortable at the table of an unassuming Hufflepuff.

He cleared his throat, the action clearly an attempt to get my attention. Looking up from the open tome in front of me, I raised my eyes to the face of the man sitting across from me and felt my eyebrows rise slightly in surprise.

I certainly hadn't expected to see him here.

"Wood?"

"Vosper," he greeted back, putting his bag on the desk. Rifling through the bag, he pulled out a very familiar pile of notes and set them on the table.

"Thanks for doing the work," I said, reaching instantly for the notes.

Wood put his hand on top of them, stopping me from taking them away. "I did the work – what else is there that I need to do?"

"You're planning on staying here?" I eyed him suspiciously, "You don't have a quidditch practice that you need to be running off to?"

He shook his head, tilting it slightly as he gave me a disarming smile. "No quidditch practice. You've got all of my attention for the next couple of hours."

"Lucky me," muttering the words under my breath, I rifled through the brief plan I had made and looked for the next part that I had allocated for him to research. "If you're actually here to work then you can get started on the next section."

He took the guidance without a fuss, rising from his seat to gather some books from one of the shelves. Whilst he was away from the table, I pulled his stack of notes towards me and read through the work he had done. Perhaps I shouldn't have admitted it but I expected the research to be rubbish because I wasn't sure he could focus on anything other than quidditch for more than a few minutes. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that my assumption had been wrong.

"Well," Wood asked as he sat back down, alerting me to his presence, "does it pass your inspection? The notes, that is?"

"They're really good." Giving him a smile, I handed the notes back to him and watched him set them aside.

I cast a brief glance at the sheer number and thickness of the books he'd been able to carry back in a single trip, only to be consumed with envy. I'd have never been able to carry that many at once. Perhaps there was something to this whole exercise business if it meant that I could carry more books at once.

"So," Wood began to speak again, drawing the word out a little for effect.

Looking back to Wood, I raised an eyebrow and with a smile playing around the corner of my lips, I asked, "Why do I get the feeling that you're not going to let me work in peace?"

"I find that I concentrate better if I'm talking to someone," he explained with a grin.

"I don't think that's how it works," I said with mild suspicion, but if it kept him working and meant that I wouldn't have to do everything by myself, then who was I to complain. "What is it then? You were obviously planning on asking me something."

"What's your plan after Hogwarts?" He ducked his head down, looking down at one of open tomes in front of him as colour rose up his neck.

"That was your question?"

"You mentioned before that you needed the grades to get into your desired job," he trailed off.

"Oh." I cleared my throat a little, copying him by looking down at the textbook in front of me. "I'm planning to go into healing."

"To make your mark on the medical world." Looking up briefly, he sent me another disarming smile, the hidden dimple in his cheek sending butterflies to my stomach. "I'm planning on joining a professional quidditch team."

Just like that, the butterflies were gone. I forcefully squished them down as I cleared my throat.

Making a polite sound to acknowledge his words, I turned my attention fully back to the work I should have been doing. But even still, I couldn't help the curiosity that had stemmed inside of me. "Any team in particular?"

"Would you know them even if I told you?" Was he teasing me?

"You'd be surprised," I trailed off quietly.

"Puddlemere United."

"I've heard of them before," I assured him. Them and many others that is.

"I've been recruited to attend their trials." He sounded excited and I didn't doubt that he'd shared the news with anyone who listened.

"You really do love your quidditch, don't you," I muttered under my breath.

He hadn't picked up on how tense the sentence had been "It's my dream to win the quidditch cup before I leave school."

"So, I guess this quidditch season is really important to you, huh?"

Did he not realise that I was just making small talk? Or was he continuing to talk in order prolong this rather one-sided conversation?

"That's why I've been so obsessed about getting as many practices in as possible. Then again, if you ask the team, I've always been this way."

"Wood," I eventually said with a sigh. "Look, can we just get on with this? We'll be here all night otherwise and this project will only take longer. We're already having to meet up over the holiday so we can finish it before the deadline."

"Sorry lass," he said with an unapologetic smile.

**********

Wood had insisted that it would be more productive for us to work in my house as he'd only get distracted by quidditch if he was at his own home. He didn't believe that he'd get more distracted by quidditch in my home. But the man was a stubborn Gryffindor and I found myself welcoming him to my home to finish the project.

Now if only I could get him to my room without him running into either my brother or father.

Wood had insisted on greeting my mother, stating that it was the gentlemanly thing to do and I stared at his back in annoyance. I wasn't exactly having him round my house for him to show my mother how much of a gentleman he was. But once he had greeted my mother, I was so desperate to get him upstairs that I took his hand in mine, fully prepared to pull him up the stairs after me. I didn't even comment on the way he reacted to my holding of his hand. Neither did I mention the way his hand tightened in mine.

"Love," an all too familiar voice called out and I let out a sigh. My dad and brother were home.

My resolve to get Wood up the stairs grew and I started to pull him up the stairs. But he stopped in his step, making me do the same and look back at him.

"Is that your father?" he asked and I nodded, looking around for any sigh of the man. "Let me go and greet –"

"No," I cut him off, startling him, "What father would like to meet the boy who's going to spend who knows how many hours alone in his daughter's room with her?"

He seemed to buy my excuse, or rather he seemed to understand that there was perhaps a legitimate reason for my not wanting him to meet my father. Just as I went to lead him the rest of the way up the stairs, I heard my father call out to me, voice much closer than it had been before.

"Merlin's balls," I swore under my breath, taking Wood by surprise again as I turned to the two men standing in the front room, their eyes focused on the boy I was currently holding hands with. I dropped Wood's hand instantly.

"Who is this?" Dad looked suspiciously at Oliver who had yet to look at him.

"This is Oliver, we're working on a Charms project together." I sent a cautious glance to Oliver who had finally looked over my dad and recognised him instantly. He was rooted to his spot like a bloody idiot – he hadn't even spied my brother yet. "Wood, this is my dad –"

"Godric's ghost," Wood exclaimed, walking down the stairs to shake my dad's hand and then he finally spied my brother. His eyes widened even further as he shook his hand too. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir."

"I take it you're a quidditch fan then?" My father said with a grin, recognising Oliver as a fanboy.

"That's the understatement of the century," I muttered under my breath, still standing on the stairs. "Look, Wood, tuck your tongue back into your mouth and once you've finished your hero worship of my father and brother, come and find me."

Leaving the three men to their talking, I hurried up the stairs to my room and started to work on my own because I didn't expect Wood to ever pull himself away from my brother. Let alone from my father. Merlin I hated having quidditch players in the family. Let alone 'legendary' ones at that.

When there was a knock on my door, only ten minutes later, I couldn't hold back my surprise that Wood had managed to settle for spending such little time with them. He stepped into the room, eyes seeking me out instantly.

"Merlin Vosper," he said with the biggest grin on his face, "I knew you were related to Charles Vosper, the best English chaser in history and now coach of the national team, but I didn't know you were his daughter." I rolled my eyes at the blatant awe in his voice. "And your brother –"

"Edric Vosper, chaser on for the Tutshill Tornadoes and captain of the English national team," I finished for him, "Yes, I know."

He picked up on my mood, walking towards me and perching on the edge of my bed. "You never said anything."

"I didn't exactly want people to know." I rolled my eyes, "You of all people know of my hatred for quidditch."

"That's what I don't understand," he exclaimed, taking my hand in his. "If your brother is such a talented player and your father is a legendary one, why do you hate the game so much?"

I pulled my hand from him, pursing my lips, "Because it's the only game out there that can take a father from his daughter and a husband from his wife. You have no idea what it was like to grow up in a house full of quidditch fanatics who put the game before everyone and everything else. Do you have any idea how often I saw my father whilst I was growing up – hardly ever because he was always off doing some unofficial practice. It was like I didn't have a father. Do you know where the man was during my birthdays? Playing quidditch.
"To make matters worse, when he found out that Edric was good at quidditch, he started making him just like a mini version of himself. I stopped him from doing the same to me. No one knows this, but I'm an excellent chaser – it's in my blood to be – but you'll never catch me on a broom." Wood stared at me in shock, clearly not having expected me to have unloaded everything to him. Merlin, I hadn't expected myself to do it either. I cleared my throat, "That's why I can't stand quidditch players who are so completely obsessed over the game."

"You're willing to lump all quidditch players together," he protested quietly. "You'd turn away from every and all quidditch players because they might let you down in the way your dad did, but what if they didn't?"

"Drop it," I said rather harshly. The way he was looking at me told me that he wasn't willing to do that. With a sigh, I shook my head and turned away from him. "Let's just get this project done with."

**********

Our charms project had been finished, edited and eventually handed in to Flitwick for him to mark. So it would be safe to assume that any business I had with Wood had long since ended, right? Now if only someone would tell the stubborn man that. He had taken personal insult with my labelling of quidditch players and seemed to want to change the way I viewed them. What that had to do with him was beyond me.

He had developed a rather annoying habit of waiting outside of the Hufflepuff common room for me and it was beginning to get on my nerves. The rumours circulating around the school as a result of his actions, were even more so annoying. But, the most annoying thing by far, was that Edric and dad had both declared that they approved of my boyfriend. My boyfriend! Of all the most ridiculous things they could have said.

"Is that Wood?" One of my dormmates Lorelai asked as we walked to the common room together.

"If it is then I'm going to walk right past him," I muttered under my breath.

"Why does he keep waiting for you anyway?" she asked as we got closer to the common room.

"Because his self-righteous Gryffindor-ness won't let someone have their own opinions." She furrowed her eyebrows at my words and I shook my head, giving her a small smile, "Don't worry about it – it's nothing."

Wood spied our approaching figures and pushed away from the wall. Before I could walk past him, or even attempt to, Lorelai pushed me in his direction to make sure that I couldn't follow after her and head into the common room instead of talking to him. I threw a glare at her back as the entrance to the common room closed behind her. Traitor.

"What do you have to say this time Wood?" I asked with a sigh as I straightened up.

He gestured for me to walk beside him. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"I think I'd prefer for you to spit it out already," I muttered but dropped into step beside him anyway. "So, out with it then."

"Look I know that your father didn't give you the best impression of quidditch players," he started and I gave him a bonus point for not pussyfooting around and getting straight to it. "But I still don't that you should blacklist all quidditch players because of it. You're not letting yourself get to know us because of a prejudice you've already formed about us."

"Us?" I repeated, steps slowing as I looked to the man beside me. "What do you mean us?"

"Us as in quidditch players," he explained, "Especially those of us that are particularly fond of the game. And I gave it some thought – you told me that you don't date quidditch players and that's because of the opinion you already have of us." I went to protest, why was he bringing this up again? He carried on before I could say anything, "And I bet that if I managed to get rid of the prejudice you have and asked you again, then you'd say yes."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, unable to stop the way my mouth parted in shock. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"A lot," he said, stopping in his step. "They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul and Merlin, Vosper, yours are practically transparent. I can see that you like me back but you're letting this ridiculous reason you have stop you from acting on it."

"You can't just assume –"

"I think you're scared Vosper that if you actually got to know me, I'd be different. I wouldn't be like your brother and I certainly wouldn't be like your father and that terrifies you because I wouldn't fit the box you've shoved all quidditch players into."

"And what makes you so sure that I do like you?" I asked quietly with a raised eyebrow.

"Like I said – it's all there in your eyes."

"Wood –"

"When you're ready to change your opinion and stop being such a chicken, come and find me." He sighed through his nose, letting his eyes rake over me as though it was the last time he'd do it and tucking his hands into his pockets. "Godric knows I'm not a chaser – I need to quaffle to come to me. When you're done being a coward, come to me."

With those words as his parting, he left me standing where I was and made his way to his common room.

"We can't all be Gryffindors," I muttered when I was certain that he was out of earshot.

**********

Lorelai couldn't have been more pleased when I told her what Wood had stated rather confidently to me the night before. She, rather disappointingly sided with Wood, stating that it was natural for him to want me to go to him. After all, he wasn't a chaser – and by blood I was. Helga help me, what was I to do? Again, Lorelai claimed that the answer was obvious – I was supposed to let go of the dislike I had for quidditch players and bet on Oliver Wood. Sensing my hesitance to do so, she had sighed and told me to think of him as Oliver, not as a quidditch player, because that wasn't all he was.

No matter how quidditch obsessed the bloke might have seemed, Oliver was much more than a quidditch player. From the work he'd done on our project I could tell he was bright, the way he led his team told me that he was determined and from I'd overheard his friends state, on more than one occasion, that he was the most loyal man they knew.

He was the only man who had managed to simultaneously steal my breath away and annoy me with one sentence, the only one whose single smile sent a shiver down my spine. He was also the only man I'd known who was able to make me question the preconceptions I had.

Apparently, the solution to my internal worries was to attend the final quidditch match of the year; Gryffindor vs Slytherin. It was the first one I had attended since the beginning of the year and simply sitting in the stands brought back the memories of the games I had been forced to attend. Contrary to how I acted, I actually liked quidditch – it was probably genetically impossible for me not to – but I hated the way the game made the players act.

Realising that my mind was going back to those negative thoughts, I looked back out to the pitch as the game started. My eyes followed Oliver as he flew up to the goal post, eyes flickering briefly in the direction of the Hufflepuff stands. For one brief moment, I had the ridiculous thought that he'd been looking for me. I dismissed the thought and instead watched him fly in a way that was so completely natural. He was almost as good as my brother when it came to playing the game as thought it was as natural as breathing.

The game progressed smoothly and I watched him take two bludgers to the stomach, but yet he didn't shake his resolve. Oliver kept his guard of the goal posts and I breathed out a deep breath, thanking every magical being that I could think of, for him not falling off of his broom.

"Merlin, that was a nasty hit," Lorelai murmured from beside me, "If he's injured then they should switch out the keeper."

"That's against the rules," I said back instantly; dad had drilled the rules into my head as a child whilst we had been 'playing' quidditch, "Substitution of players isn't allowed during a game. And even if it was, Wood wouldn't allow it – it's his dream to win the quidditch cup."

My eyes flew to Potter as he gained on the snitch before looking over to the scoreboard. Gryffindor were 60 points ahead, if he caught it now then they won. Potter inched closer to the golden snitch. His hand reached out –

"They've won," I said confidently, straightening up in my seat.

"How do you know?"

"They're 60 points ahead – catching the snitch is another 150. They only 210 to win the cup."

The whistle was blown and an almighty cheer went through the Gryffindor stand. I was right; they'd won. Even if I had tried to smother the smile on my face, I wouldn't have been able to. But I didn't try to. Instead I watched the way Oliver ecstatically accepted the cup and lifted it aloft, achieving his dream.

"Let's go," I said as the crowd started to thin.

Lorelai frowned at me, "You don't want to congratulate him?"

"Not now," I said dismissively, "I need to drop by the hospital wing."

She frowned further but didn't say anything, even when I offered no form of explanation. If the Gryffindor team had any sense, then they'd take Wood to the hospital wing to get him checked out. My assumption had proved correct as I had walked into the hospital wing to be greeted with the sight of Wood trying to put his quidditch jumper back on.

He was sitting on one of the hospital beds, bandages wrapped around his lower ribs all the way to his stomach, one hand in the jumper when he realised I was standing there. Freezing partway through the action, he cleared his throat before hurrying to put it on the rest of the way. Overcome with awkwardness, I looked around the room.

"Congratulations," I finally said when I gained enough courage to look him in the eye. "You achieved your dream of winning the quidditch cup."

"You remembered," the surprise in his voice made me flush red.

And I nodded because what else could I have done? Changing the subject, I made a vague gesture towards him, "So, did the bludger do a lot of damage?"

"Not much," he assured me, looking at me as though he couldn't quite understand what I was doing here. "Pomfrey said I'd broken rib or two but gave me a potion to regrow them. I have no idea what the bandages are for though."

"Right." I cleared my throat, "Well, I should get going."

"Vosper," he called out before I could take a single step away from his bedside. He patted the edge of the bed. "Didn't you come here for something else?"

Taking a breath to strengthen myself, I approached his bed and perched on the edge. "I'm not quite sure how to explain this, or in what way to say it but I'll try to say it in terms that we'll both understand."

"Go ahead, lass," he encouraged quietly as I lowered my eyes to the duvet beneath us. Did he realise quite how eager he sounded? "I'm all ears."

"In this metaphorical game of quidditch that we're playing," I cleared my throat, "you're the keeper, right? And I'm the chaser? Or am I the quaffle? I'm not sure which but I'm not sure if it matters to be honest?"

"You're rambling," he said gently.

"Right," I let out a breath, "And if the chaser tried to take a shot towards the goal hoops would they score a goal or –"

"Of course not," he said back instantly, "I'm a keeper lass." Taking a hold of my chin, he made me look up at him. I raised my eyes cautiously to him, "No quaffles get past me – it's my job to catch the quaffles, I can't have them slipping through my fingers."

"Oliver –"

"This metaphor's becoming far too complex," he muttered, leaning in closer to me and I found that I had no wish to move away from him. "But I think I understand what you mean."

He sealed his lips over mine. 

**********

5 YEARS LATER

"I can't believe you're actually willing to be at this match," Edric muttered from beside me as we sat in one of the VIP booths, my eyes on the two teams as they met at the centre of the field.

"The fuss you used to put up when we asked you to come to a match was legendary," Dad muttered, playing along with Edric as he shook his head. "But you made no form of complaint this time."

"But then again," Edric nudged me, "This is her boyfriend's first match."

"Would you shut up?" I threw back, looking at my brother with a raised eyebrow, "I didn't ask you to come along with me – you both wanted to come with me and dragged poor mum with you."

"Hey," Edric protested, throwing an arm over my shoulder, "Without me and dad, you wouldn't be allowed into the VIP booth."

"And what a shame that would have been," I muttered dryly as the referee blew the whistle to signal the beginning of the game.

Both teams flew to their positions and my eyes followed the keeper decked out in his new blue robe. Oliver looked far too solemn and perhaps, even a bit nervous as he guarded the goal hoops. But I didn't blame him – this was his first game since he had been promoted from the Puddlemere United reserve team.

The game progressed quickly and thanks to some superb goal keeping (I was bias), Puddlemere were in the lead. The opposing team, realising that they had underestimated the new keeper, focused the brunt of their attacks onto Oliver who took a bludger straight to his stomach.

Merlin, what was with him getting hit by bludgers? It seemed to happen every time he played a game.

"He's lucky that his girlfriend is a healer," dad muttered quietly, sounding more concerned than I felt. I rolled my eyes – what did me being a healer have to do with anything? If anything, he would he healed by the team's healer.

But I had to admit that the glare I had aimed at the opposing beaters could have burned through their skin. Why the hell were they so desperate to hit Oliver over and over again? If they were the reason he ended up with broken ribs again –

The whistle was blown as the game came to an end. I had missed seeing who had caught the snitch but from the way Puddlemere crowded around their seeker, the answer was obvious. The team huddled together and I watched the captain tousle Oliver's hair to congratulate him as almighty cheers rang out from their supporters.

"That was a good match," mum said as the teams filtered out of the arena to get changed.

"It was," dad agreed, taking mum's hand as we made our way out of the booth. "Oliver's one hell of a keeper – it almost makes me want to recruit him for the team."

"Like he'd let you," I said with a roll of my eyes, "If there's any national team that the man'll play for, it'll be the Scottish one."

Someone took a hold of my hand, and I glanced back to find a newly changed Oliver standing behind me. He greeted my family, linking my fingers through his, before he pulled me away from them.

"You played fantastically." His hair was still wet from his shower and I brushed it away from his eyes. "I told you that you had no reason to be nervous."

"I just didn't want to break the team's winning streak," he explained.

I let my eyes rake over him from head to toe and frowned, "You haven't been to see the team healer yet, have you?" He shifted slightly at my accusation and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Oliver Wood, you tell me the truth right now."

"Why bother when my girlfriend can heal it for me at home?"

"Don't you want to go to after party?" I gestured to his teammates who were approaching him, talking loudly between themselves. "The rest of the team will be going."

"Only those that don't have a partner to go home to," he muttered quietly in my ear as though it was a secret, "Everyone else feels guilty about returning home as drunk as they plan on being."

I rolled my eyes but said nothing as members of the team made their way over to Oliver. Seeing his approaching teammates, Oliver wrapped an arm around my waist and ushered them over.

"You played spectacularly," the captain complimented Oliver as he stopped in front of him, slapping him on the arm. "It's a wonderful start to your professional quidditch career." He glanced over at me, noticing my presence before looking at Oliver with a raised eyebrow. "I take it that this is the girlfriend then? The one you don't stop talking about?"

Looking up at Oliver with a slight smirk, I raised both eyebrows when he met my eyes. "Oh hush lass."

"I didn't say anything," I protested quietly.

"Is that –" a voice interrupted loudly as one of Oliver's teammates pushed past the captain. I blinked, surprised by the sudden appearance of the man who was peering closely at my face. "I'd recognise that face anyway." He looked at Oliver with a smirk, "You landed yourself a Vosper, mate – she's practically quidditch royalty."

Oliver's hold on my waist tightened, knowing just how much it annoyed me when people used who my brother and father were to define me. It still didn't matter to some people that I was a blooming presence in the medical community, not when the two male members of my family were already legends and I had yet to become one.

"Actually," Oliver said pointedly, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, "You're looking at one of the rising stars of the medical world. She's currently working on the a potion to immunise children against mumblemumps."

His captain, having more sense than his fellow teammate, placed an arm over his shoulder and started to lead him away, "You're not coming to the after party?"

Oliver shook his head, "I have a girlfriend to go home sober to."

"I hope you realise that I plan on putting you on bed rest once I've healed your ribs," I muttered once his teammates had walked away and I prepared to apparate us home.

"As long as you're on bed rest with me." 

____________________

I'd love to know your opinions on this one - I feel like I had to rush as I was writing this one.

But anyway, here are your hints:

* He was one of the 12 students to take N.E.W.T level potions

* He is known to be able to see thestrals