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╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑆𝐼𝑋] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗.  [ʙᴀɴᴛᴇʀ,ʙʟᴜᴅɢᴇʀs, & ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢs] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
- Scottish Highlands
( September 7th, 1994. )

𝑻he morning sun spilled across the Hogwarts grounds, the crisp September air buzzing with anticipation. Word of Cassie's challenge to Oliver Wood had spread faster than a Nimbus 2000, and the Quidditch pitch was already drawing a crowd, mostly just 1st-4th years wanting to see Oliver. And then the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team stood in the pit. Students trickled in from every house, their chatter filled with curiosity and amusement as they speculated about the impending match.

Cassie stood at the edge of the pitch, her borrowed broom in one hand and her bat in the other, trying to focus on the feel of the cool air on her face instead of the butterflies threatening to take over her stomach. The week of training had left her sore and bruised, but also sharper and more determined than ever. She'd worked too hard to let nerves take her out now.

From across the field, she spotted Oliver Wood walking onto the pitch, his broom slung casually over his shoulder, his Quidditch robes catching the morning breeze. His usual confident smirk was firmly in place, but when his eyes met hers, Cassie thought she caught a flicker of something—surprise? Amusement? She couldn't tell, and it didn't matter.

Fred and George were already hovering nearby, their grins practically splitting their faces. Lee Jordan sat cross-legged on the grass with a notebook in hand, ready to narrate every detail.

"You ready for this?" Fred called, twirling his bat.

Cassie tightened her grip on her broom and smirked back at him. "Born ready."

George laughed, elbowing Fred. "She's got the fire. Now let's see if she's got the follow-through."

Cassie snapped her head toward George, her smirk sharp. "Follow through, ay? I'll do you one better," she shot back, leaving him and Fred grinning as she turned and confidently strode toward Oliver.

Oliver was tightening his gloves, his broom resting casually against his shoulder, looking every bit the picture of smug confidence. Cassie's steps didn't falter as she approached him, stopping just close enough to make him raise his head in acknowledgment.

He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "What's this, then? Come to wish me luck?"

Cassie folded her arms, tilting her head with mock sweetness. "Oh, I don't think you'll need luck, Wood. With all your experience and talent, this should be a breeze for you, right?"

Oliver smirked, clearly picking up on her sarcasm. "Right," he replied smoothly. "So what's your play here, Harrington? Last-minute attempt to psych me out?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to make sure you're ready. Wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of all these people."

He chuckled, adjusting his grip on his broom. "That's rich, coming from someone who's been playing Quidditch for what—five days?"

"Six," she corrected with mock indignation. "And don't worry about me. I've got plenty of surprises up my sleeve. I don't have to win, I just have to show everyone here you're not as perfect as you think."

Oliver's gaze lingered on her, his smirk firmly in place. "Is that so? Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I've seen it all before, Harrington. You're not going to rattle me."

Cassie stepped just a fraction closer, her voice dropping low enough that only he could hear. "Oh, I don't need to rattle you, Wood. I just need you to think about me every time you mess up."

His brows lifted, but he stayed composed, clearly intrigued. "Bold of you to assume I'll be the one messing up."

She smirked, leaning in just slightly, her voice dripping with playful mischief. "Let's just say I'm good at getting under people's skin. And if that doesn't work... I've got other ways of distracting you."

Oliver let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're full of it, you know that?"

Cassie grinned, her next words coming out smooth and deliberate. "Maybe. But you'll still be thinking about me long after this match is over."

She gave him a wink before turning on her heel and striding back toward her side of the pitch, her ponytail swinging.

Behind her, Oliver rolled his head back, laughing softly, clearly affected despite himself. He muttered under his breath, "Merlin help me," as he tried—and failed—not to glance at her again.

The whistle's shrill tone pierced the air, signaling the start of the match. Cassie shot off the ground, gripping her broom tightly as she propelled herself into the air. The adrenaline from the cheering crowd coursed through her veins, but she kept her focus locked on Oliver, who was already gliding through the air with the kind of ease that came from years of practice.

He snagged the Quaffle within seconds, darting toward the goalposts. Cassie zoomed after him, her grip tightening on the bat in her hand. She spotted Fred off to the side, cupping his hands around his mouth like a coach.

"Stay on him, Harrington! He's quick, but you're annoying—use that!"

"Thanks for the encouragement!" Cassie shot back, rolling her eyes as she picked up speed.

Oliver turned his head slightly, clearly aware of her closing in. "Try to keep up, Harrington," he called over his shoulder, his tone teasing as he spun in a sharp maneuver that left her scrambling to adjust.

"Keep up?" she shouted, swerving to intercept him. "I didn't realize showing off was a Quidditch strategy!"

He chuckled, glancing back at her. "You'd know all about showing off, wouldn't you? All this talk and still no points on the board."

Cassie growled under her breath, swinging her bat to deflect an incoming Bludger that was aiming for her head. The crack of the bat against the Bludger sent it hurtling toward Oliver, who ducked just in time, throwing her a half-annoyed, half-impressed look.

"Careful!" he called, smirking. "You'll hurt someone!"

"That's the idea!" she retorted, darting toward him as he launched the Quaffle into the goalpost with practiced precision. The crowd erupted, and Oliver held up a hand in mock celebration, his grin infuriatingly smug.

"One down!" he shouted, circling back toward the center of the pitch.

Cassie huffed, shooting Fred a glare as he howled with laughter from the sidelines. "Don't let him rattle you, Cass!" Fred called, waving his bat.

"I'm not rattled!" she shouted back.

But Oliver's effortless skill was frustrating—and worse, she could tell he knew it. He caught the Quaffle again and flew past her, his speed making her broom feel like a school-issued relic.

"You know," she said loudly, flying alongside him, "you could slow down a little. Make it interesting."

He smirked, not even looking at her as he tossed the Quaffle back and forth in his hands. "Interesting? You've got to earn that, Harrington."

"Oh, I'll earn it," she said, swerving in front of him and forcing him to change course. "But tell me, Wood—are you this cocky all the time, or is it just when you think you're impressing someone?"

That made him falter, just for a second, but it was enough. Cassie darted toward him, snagging the Quaffle out of his grip with a victorious laugh.

"Looks like I just earned it!" she called, zooming toward the goal.

Oliver recovered quickly, flying after her. "Don't get ahead of yourself!"

Cassie gritted her teeth, her eyes on the goal. She dodged an incoming Bludger, her heart pounding as she aimed and hurled the Quaffle with all her strength. It soared cleanly through the hoop, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

"That's one for me!" she yelled, turning to face Oliver, whose expression had shifted from smug to mildly annoyed.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, his voice tinged with begrudging respect.

"Oh, I will," she shot back, hovering closer to him. "And you'll be thinking about it all night, won't you?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're relentless."

"Part of my charm," she replied with a wink, darting back to position.

The match continued with Oliver scoring another goal almost immediately. His precision and control were undeniable, but Cassie refused to back down. She swung her bat with increasing confidence, deflecting Bludgers and keeping him on his toes with her incessant banter.

At one point, as he flew past her, she called out, "You're sweating, Wood. Something I said?"

He shook his head, laughing. "Not even close, Harrington."

"Sure about that?" she teased, flying alongside him. "Because I think you're worried. That Quaffle's looking a little slippery in your hands."

Oliver barked out a laugh but didn't respond, focusing instead on weaving around her and landing his fourth goal.

When he finally scored his fifth and the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, the crowd erupted in cheers. Cassie landed on the pitch, wobbling slightly as her legs protested the movement.

Oliver landed a moment later, walking toward her with his broom slung over his shoulder. His smirk was back, but there was something softer behind it now, something that felt almost... impressed.

"Well?" he said, stopping in front of her. "Feel like you proved your point?"

Cassie grinned, still catching her breath. "You tell me. You look a little less smug than usual."

Oliver laughed, shaking his head as he approached her. "You definitely made me work harder than I thought I'd have to."

Cassie, still catching her breath but refusing to let her exhaustion show, smirked. "What can I say? I have a talent for making life difficult for people."

His grin widened, but there was something thoughtful behind his eyes as he studied her. "You're not wrong," he said with a chuckle. Then, almost as if the idea had just struck him, his expression shifted. A spark of determination lit up his face, and his tone grew more serious. "But I'm not joking, Cass. You could be a really great player if you put some effort in."

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Oliver stepped closer, gesturing between them. "Look, Quidditch is cancelled, right? No House matches, no practices, nothing. I've been trying to figure out how to make this year count anyway, and I think... maybe this is it. Let me train you."

Cassie frowned, unsure if he was teasing or serious. "Train me? For what? The next time I feel like bruising your ego?"

He smirked, but his tone stayed firm. "For the next time you want to prove someone wrong. Or for the next time you want to stand up there on a broom and actually win. You've got the guts, Cass. All you're missing is the skill. And I can help with that. Maybe you could even make it on the team next year."

She hesitated, still skeptical. "Why would you want to? You already spend half your life on a broom. Don't you want a break?"

Oliver's expression softened, and for a moment, his confidence gave way to something more vulnerable. "Because Quidditch is what I do. It's who I am. And if I can't play this year... maybe I can teach instead."

Cassie tilted her head, studying him. His sincerity was disarming, and for once, she didn't have a witty comeback ready. "You're serious," she said finally.

"Completely," Oliver replied, holding her gaze. "You've got potential, Harrington. Let me help you reach it."

She bit her lip, mulling it over. The idea of more training sessions—of putting herself through even more chaos—was both daunting and thrilling. And something about the way Oliver was looking at her made it hard to say no.

"Alright," she said slowly, her smirk returning. "But if this turns into you just trying to boss me around, I'm out."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Deal. But fair warning—I'm not going to go easy on you."

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "Good. I wouldn't expect anything less."

Oliver grinned, his confidence returning in full force. "Then we start next week. Be ready, Harrington."

As he walked off toward the locker room, Cassie couldn't help but smile to herself. She hadn't just bruised Oliver Wood's ego—she'd found a way to get under his skin.