A/N: As I tried to say in the very brief summary, this is my version of the role played by everyone's favourite quidditch captain in the events of The Deathly Hallows, and the years preceding it. Naturally, he didn't go though those years alone (OC: proceed with caution). But this isn't just an (admittedly low key) romance; it's also my chance to play around with the characters closest to my heart, and to imagine the lives of those who were on the margins of the books (and films) we all know and love. I should probably point out that most of these characters, places and events are the property of JKR, not me - and this chapter includes two direct quotations from the apparition lessons in The Half-Blood Prince, which should be pretty easy to spot. I really, really hope you enjoy this, and any reviews that you're feeling generous enough to leave me will be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1

October 1993, Hogwarts

"Destination, determination, deliberation."

Hardly listening, Oliver Wood allowed his gaze to drift over the gathered assortment of sixth and seventh years lined up neatly on the lawns. It was a clear but breezy Saturday morning, and those furthest from the Ministry instructor were straining to hear his directions.

He was one of only two Gryffindor seventh years present: the others had either passed their test last year, or were too ashamed to advertise their failure by turning up to a second year of lessons. Wood had missed last year's classes because of a clash with quidditch training, and had only paid his 12 galleons this year because he felt that he should, rather than because he'd wanted to. The idea of vanishing into thin air had never seemed particularly appealing.

"Many more from our year here?" asked Sean Carey, with whom Wood shared a dormitory.

"A couple of Slytherins," he answered, "standing right at the back. About eight from Hufflepuff, and I think there are a few from Ravenclaw too – but..."

"What?"

"I don't know her." He frowned: it was not usual to see an unfamiliar face at Hogwarts.

Sean followed his gaze. "You wouldn't. She's not the type to take any of your doss subjects. Sits on the row in front of me in Charms and she's bloody good. Susie Birch – that's her name."

As if she had heard them mention her, she turned round and caught them looking. Sean's eyes quickly darted back to the instructor guiltily, but Wood held her gaze for a moment, intrigued. Why didn't he recognise her? She had the sort of face he would have remembered.

"Don't even try, mate," Sean muttered.

"You shut your mouth, Carey."

"Quiet, Wood!" McGonagall was watching them, and they both turned their attention reluctantly back to the class. The breeze was picking up. It was becoming increasingly difficult to make out what the instructor was saying, but it seemed to be something about concentration and desire... and splinching. That didn't sound promising.

Suddenly, the students on the front row, some more confidently than others, began to turn elaborate pirouettes, and all looked remarkably foolish. Wood's eyes lingered on Susie Birch, whose clumsy twirl left her staggering for balance. There was something engaging in her self-deprecating laugh, and as she cast another shy, guarded glance in his direction, he realised that he was staring.

"Is that all there is to it?" Sean was attempting a pirouette of his own. "Just turn on the spot and hope for the best?"

"It looks like it." Wood wasn't concentrating: he felt suddenly self-conscious, and resisted the urge to check whether Susie's eyes were still on him, but had to laugh as Sean ended up on his hands and knees.

"You look like such an idiot."

"You try it, then."

"All right." He settled himself with his feet firmly apart and his hands by his side, fixing his gaze on the wooden hoop that lay five feet away on the grass. All he had to do was disappear and appear again, to will himself through the air and into that hoop. Concentration and desire: it didn't sound all that different from quidditch, and, realising this, he felt instantly more confident. He launched himself into a sharp turn – and found himself in exactly the same place, with Sean blinking at him stupidly.

"This is daft."

"It's a bloody joke."

He tried again, and again to no avail, although he at least had managed to stay on his feet. Apparently the talent for keeping a quaffle out of a quidditch hoop had no relation to apparition after all – and all the while, there was Susie, smiling away on the front row.

Neither Wood, Carey nor any of the other students achieved anything like apparition during the class, but the instructor explained patiently that this was to be expected.

"How long d'you think it'll be before we actually manage it?" Sean asked as they ambled back across the lawns to the castle.

Wood didn't answer: he had no idea, and his eyes had settled on Susie in the crowd ahead, in the middle of a group of Ravenclaws. There was a tight, knotted sensation in the pit of his stomach, a growing sense of irrational but lingering frustration at his inability to tear his gaze away from her – and his failure to master apparition at the first attempt. He pictured himself materialising casually in the wooden hoop while the others stared. She would be watching and admiring, of course. As little as he knew of Susie, there was something very pleasing in the thought of her sitting up in that strange blue common room, blushing slightly and thinking of him.

"I mean, I'd rather not spend every Saturday morning doing pirouettes on the front lawn."

What was Sean talking about? He nodded vaguely, not knowing how to reply.

Her robes looked a little too big for her, he thought – or was it just that she was smaller than the average? She was certainly shorter than the other Ravenclaw girl she was walking with, but he guessed that her figure would be better than the other girl's...

"Have you started that Herbology essay yet?"

His imagination led him down ever more vivid trails: he pictured sliding a hand under her robes, around her waist; then kissing her, pulling her closer as she giggled shyly...

"Wood? Are you even listening?"

"What?"

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws headed up different staircases, and Susie disappeared from sight. When Wood turned back to Sean, his friend was shaking his head despairingly.

"Never mind. I'll ask you again when you've finished eyeing up Birch."

He grinned. "Admit it, she's not bad."

Sean nodded, flashing him a conciliatory smile. "You could do much worse. She wouldn't go for you, though."

"How do you know?"

"I don't think she's a quidditch fan."

The image of Susie Birch refused to leave Wood's mind for the rest of the day and the long night that followed. By the next morning, however, there was training to think about, and the impending match against Slytherin – and Susie was quickly forgotten.

Next Saturday morning, the Ministry instructor decided to mix up the rows of students. "It will enable you all to concentrate fully," he claimed, and although this reasoning was roundly met with scepticism, the heads of houses divided up their rows accordingly. Wood found himself right at the front between a couple of sixth years from Hufflepuff, and looked round for Sean. There he was, frowning resolutely beside a very ugly Slytherin girl, but there – how could he have forgotten about her? There, just past the Hufflepuff kid on his left, stood Susie Birch.

She was standing with her weight on one leg and her arms folded and her hair – dark blonde, almost reddish in this light – rippling loosely in the wind. She was captivating. Instantly, he thought again about kissing her, but she turned suddenly – he'd been caught staring once more.

Be casual, his brain was saying. Look normal. Stop being a creep.

He smiled awkwardly. "Hi."

She was smiling back. "Hi." She was gorgeous, he realised, and she was smiling and talking to him – to him. She nodded towards the wooden hoops in front of them. "Feeling confident?"

"Not in the slightest."

Her smile widened. "Me neither."

You could hear the smile in her voice. It was lovely; it rang maddeningly in his ears.

The instructor was talking again. "Focus your determination to occupy the visualised space. Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every part of your body."

There was already a yearning in Wood's body, but it had nothing to do with wooden hoops. The class began once again to spin on the spot, though he felt even less inclined to make a fool of himself than he had last week. He glanced at Susie, who appeared to have forgotten all about him and was staring thoughtfully at her hoop. McGonagall was standing nearby, he realised, and he called out to her.

"What's the trick, professor?"

She came towards him, wearing the fond, maternal smile with which she had always regarded her house's star keeper. "There is no trick, Mr Wood," she said, "and no shortcut. The ability to apparate only comes with practise."

Susie and the two Hufflepuffs were listening in, as if hoping to overhear a pearl of wisdom that would suddenly render everything simple and clear.

"But what point is there in practising if we don't know what to look for?" Wood asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susie nod in agreement and felt a burst of – what was it? Satisfaction, triumph, excitement? "All of this spinning's getting us nowhere."

McGonagall smiled knowingly. "Perhaps you should have paid more attention to your instructor in last week's class." If he had been the type to feel embarrassed, he might have blushed. He could feel Susie's gaze on him. McGonagall continued. "The key to apparition is focus. You must eliminate all distractions and channel your determination. Then, turn quickly on the spot, and you will begin to feel a certain elastic quality to the air: a thinness, perhaps. Feel its pull, and allow yourself to fall into it."

Wood nodded hesitantly, turning his eyes back to the wooden hoop on the grass. Elastic air, he repeated to himself, fall into the elastic air; and what followed was almost indescribably strange. He launched himself into a determined spin and felt at once that the air was bending. The world around him blurred and warped; his insides seemed to contract tightly.

"Lean into it!" McGonagall called suddenly. He leaned – and saw grass hurtling up towards him. An overpowering urge to retch shuddered through him.

"Excellent, Wood!" McGonagall said. He didn't feel excellent, lying flat on the ground, dizzy, bruised and – there was no other word for it – hungover. Rolling over onto his back with a groan, he put up a hand to shade his eyes from the dazzling sunlight. His head was pounding. "It is normal," she was saying, "to experience a little physical discomfort at first, but soon it will become familiar and you'll be able to actually apparate."

So that hadn't even been full apparition? "Bugger that. I think I'll stick to flying."

A sudden shadow fell across him. "Are you ok?" He opened his eyes: there was Susie standing over him, her brow furrowed slightly in concern.

"I'm spectacular," he answered, and the corners of her mouth twitched into what might have been a smile.

"Do you want to try again?" McGonagall asked. Susie moved away and he clambered clumsily to his feet, buoyed by her apparent concern.

"And you, Miss Birch," the Gryffindor head of house was saying, "have you tried yet?"

"Not with any success," Susie answered. "I mean, I haven't got anything like as far as Wood did just now."

He grinned stupidly, unable to stop himself. The brilliant and lovely Ravenclaw prefect had known his name and was actually admiring his progress. He wondered suddenly whether she thought about him like he thought about her, whether she had ever fantasised about kissing him. The nausea of a few seconds ago had all but disappeared: that once distant wooden hoop now seemed very close.

Once again, he focussed his attention on that circle of grass within the hoop, but could not resist sneaking a glance at Susie before turning quickly on the spot. Again, the elasticity of the air, the pushing and pulling, the blurring and the warping – and all within a fraction of a second. But this time he yielded to it: it seemed remarkably easy. And then a new wall of sensations hit him: the swish of black robes, the flick of long hair against his cheek, then a startled pair of wide, green, feminine eyes. With an exclamation of surprise, he tumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on the grass. He had apparated – but not into his own hoop.

"Well done, Miss Birch!" McGonagall was saying. Susie too had collapsed onto the grass, pale, shaken and utterly bewildered. "But target practise is in order for you, Wood, I think. You missed the spot by quite a way..."

"How do you know that wasn't what I intended?" he muttered, and only Susie heard, lying next to him on the grass. A shy smile, a slight blush: she had understood him perfectly.

And that was how it began.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Reviews would, of course, be a real treat - however critical.