"Now shake hands!" Madame Hooch said sternly. The two Quidditch captains glared at each other, Flint's face was covered in blood from his shattered nose, and Oliver's ribs were throbbing alarmingly.

"Shake, hands…" She demanded again with authority. The two boys slowly reached out. Flint's hand shook Oliver's firmly (a little too firmly). They stayed there, their hands aggressively grasping each other. Both of their knuckles were turning white.

Oliver looked at Flint's pale face, he was staring at him back. Who would break away first? The pair stayed there, staring at each other with their hands clutching, daring the other to let go.

ahem. Madame Hooch looked at them cautiously, and a bit intrigued.

The boys, as if they had been zapped, let go of the other's hand.
Oliver swore Flint was blushing under all of the blood.

He looked at the Slytherin, inspecting him with wide eyes.

His arms looked strong and muscular, and his chiselled face glowed in the sun. The boy's dark skin contrasted with his white, teeth. And his jet-black, messy hair made him look taller.

Wood could feel butterflies in his stomach.

Nervous of what it meant, he ran off to join his team.

"Hey! Wood, we did it!" cheered Harry. The ecstatic team crowded around him.

"Wood! The cup!" yelled Fred handing him the golden trophy. He held it up in the air, the crowd howled in response.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The team cried in unison.

He finally did it, after years of trying, they finally won the cup.

Oliver could only smile as his friends lifted him up.

He finally did it.

But then he saw Flint. He was walking towards the castle, defeated. His back hunched and his broom trailing behind him.

Wood thought about their brief interaction. What happened that made him feel so weird… He had never felt, whatever it was, before.

"Wood! We are going to throw a party in the common room, see ya there!" George shouted as he and Fred jogged back to the school.

"Yeah…," he sighed.