Play by Play
Summary: Hermione Granger runs into Oliver Wood in the corridor and gets a lesson on offensive strategy. Smudges of Oliver/Hermione.
Rating: It's probably G… argh. I always swore I'd never write anything G-rated… ;)
Feedback: Love it, thrive on it, so tell me what you think.
Author's Note: Originally written as a Christmas cookie for a good friend of mine over at LiveJournal. Have been meaning to post it for ages, but I am lazy. So, yeah. :)
Arithmancy had run late again.
Normally, she didn't mind in the least. Professor Vector was a positively enthralling lecturer, bringing life to a subject Hermione already held very near and dear. But her heart simply wasn't in it today, with thoughts of integer charts and numerical diagrams only serving to remind her of the stolen time she was thriving on.
Harry and Ron had finally stopped quizzing her about her strange class schedule, but that didn't stop them from shooting her suspicious looks when she would suddenly seem to disappear or show up in an odd place and time.
Indeed, she knew she was in for a set of very perplexed glances from her two best friends today, as she'd been walking only a few steps behind them on the way to lunch when she'd had to stop and flip her time turner. The Arithmancy classroom was two floors above where she'd left them, and thanks to the extended class, there was no way she could possibly make it back before they noticed her absence.
Hermione sighed and hurriedly jammed her copy of Numerology and Gramatica into her backpack with the rest of her books. If she took the hidden staircase next to the Muggle Studies classroom and then the passageway behind the tapestry on the third floor, she could possibly catch up with Harry and Ron before they became too wary.
She left the classroom at a jog, dodging through a throng of first years meandering their way down to the Great Hall for lunch and past a crowd of seventh years who'd stopped to discuss their last DADA lesson. It was as she rounded the corner that she realized her time turner had begun to slip up from her robes, dangling against the front of her jumper like an odd necklace. A momentary flourish of panic gripped her as she groped for the small hourglass, attempting to stuff it away before anyone could spot it. Head bent, she marched unheedingly down the hall, and it was in this way that she charged directly into Oliver Wood.
Books, quills and scrolls of parchment took flight when Hermione's bag fell, and a startled yelp escaped the girl herself as she toppled backwards to the floor. She was annoyed to notice the burly and broad-shouldered Wood was only knocked back a step.
Swiftly she crawled to her feet, too distracted to be embarrassed and more than ready to roll her eyes at whatever comment of, "Watch where you're going, you little bookworm!" or the like that the Quidditch captain cared to assail her with. But when she met his gaze, Wood looked surprisingly aggrieved, and for a long moment, the two simply stared at one another.
"Emm… Sorry?" Wood spoke at last.
In an instant Hermione was snapped back to her senses. "No, no, my fault, of course," she muttered in response and immediately bent to pick up her books—and found herself knocking heads with Oliver, who'd begun to do the same.
"Oh hell," he grumbled, rubbing tentatively at the growing lump on his forehead.
Hermione felt a ripple of annoyance as she sent him an icy glare. "Well, if you hadn't bent forward—" she began in a prickled tone.
"No! Oh, no, no, I wasn't blaming you," he interjected quickly, and the tips of his ears turned distinctly pink as he avoided her gaze. "No, that was my fault. Sorry again."
Slowly she eyed him. "Quite all right," she said finally, again returning to the task of collecting her books as she added, "Though I think we'd best go our separate ways before we kill one another."
A small chuckle came from Oliver, who was drawing together his own belongings.
They rose simultaneously, though managing to avoid concussing each other this time around, and Oliver shared with her an uneasy smile. "Well then. Sorry again, eh?"
"No harm done. We'll both just have to be more watchful next time," she answered curtly, her mind suddenly aware of the fact that Harry and Ron were probably wondering about her.
He echoed, "Yeah, next time…" An awkward pause left them both staring at anything but the other and searching for excuses to escape. It was Oliver who finally uttered, "Emm, see you later then," and swept past her, headed down the corridor.
Shaking her head, Hermione had started off again toward her own destination when she spotted the sheaf of parchment across the now-empty hallway. Scooping it up, she found herself looking at some sort of Quidditch play and instantly she turned to yell after him, "Wood, you forgot your…" But he'd already rounded the corner.
With a last shrug, Hermione stuffed the parchment among her own things, made a mental note to return it to him when she saw him at lunch, and promptly forgot about the thing as she sprinted down to the Great Hall.
It was as she was preparing to do her homework that evening that she found the sheet again, tucked between the pages of her Ancient Runes dictionary. For a long moment she was boggled by its presence amongst her papers—a Quidditch play drawn in scribbly male handwriting nestled in the midst of her precise, neat Rune translations. Then her eyes drew to Oliver, seated alone on the opposite side of the common room, and recollection returned to her.
Natural curiosity niggled at her mind, provoking Hermione to take a closer glance at the paper… and that was when she noticed something peculiar about the "play." For indeed, it was a play of sorts, or so she assumed. The layout was that of the Arithmancy and Charms corridors—the very halls she'd been traversing that afternoon that had resulted in her collision with Wood. In a square clearly meant to be the Arithmancy classroom, a small stick figure with lots of squiggled lines drawn on as hair was labeled "Granger." A similar figure, minus the hair, was situated in the Charms classroom and marked as "Wood."
Hermione stared bemusedly at the parchment, the analytical part of her mind—which is to say, the vast majority of her mind—already jumping to decipher its meaning.
Almost by accident, she bumped the paper with her wand, and nearly leapt from her seat when the little ink figures were set into motion. Enraptured, she watched as the tiny Granger figure wandered along the corridor and was promptly stopped by the Wood character. Across the bottom of the page, a list of what she could only guess were topics of conversation appeared in Oliver's scrawled writing, including such things as classes and books and Potter. Meanwhile, tiny thought bubbles appeared around the Wood figure's head, saying things like, "Don't make a fool of yourself," and "Don't say anything stupid." This went on for a few long seconds before suddenly, the two stick figures converged on one another, and Hermione gaped as a tiny heart appeared above their heads.
For a moment, she could only stare, a mixture of emotions spiraling through her as her gaze slipped once more to the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. His eyes jumped down to the textbook in his lap when he realized she was watching.
At last Hermione gathered her wits back about her and primly squared off her shoulders as she took to her feet. Her movements were very stiff and precise as she marched across the common room, ignoring both Ron and Harry when they tossed questions after her.
Oliver noted her approach and was making an obvious effort to feign that he hadn't when she reached him, not even waiting for him to look up as she slapped the parchment down in front of him. "Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?" she demanded in a low voice, aware of the group of second years listening curiously from nearby.
Eyes glued to the parchment, the tips of Oliver's ears suddenly turned very red. "I… I can explain this…" he mumbled, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.
"I should hope so," she said crisply. Her tone was so eerily similar to an angry Professor McGonagall's that Oliver stared up at her in startled awe. "If this childish thing is supposed to be funny, I fail to see the humor."
She waited for his response, her arms folded belligerently across her chest. Seemingly speechless, he could only gaze between the inked products of his own hand and the irked real-life representation of one of those drawings. After a full minute of this, Hermione's patience dissolved.
"I hope you're quite pleased with yourself, Wood," she snapped. "I hope you've shared this with your friends and had a nice little laugh. I had thought more of you than this."
She turned on heel and had taken only a step when a hand fell onto her shoulder and spun her. Oliver was now on his feet, keeping a steady grasp and a firm gaze on Hermione as he spoke evenly, "Look, Hermione, it's not what you think."
What little struggle she'd been about to put up died when she heard him speak her first name. To her knowledge, he'd never addressed her by… well, anything, let alone as intimately as to call her "Hermione." Wariness overcame her as she narrowed her gaze at him. "Pray tell, what should I be thinking then?"
Again, a small staring competition was held between the bookworm and the Quidditch captain, until Oliver said softly, "Look. During the Hufflepuff match, you put that charm on Potter's glasses, so he could see."
"What, the Impervius charm? It's just a simple repelling spell," she said, not quite sure what this had to do with anything, but more confident now that she was on firmer, more… academic, ground. "Anyone could've performed it, I just happened to—" She found Oliver's fingertip pressed against her lips and instantly fell silent, caught between surprise and… something she couldn't quite describe.
"Hermione," he called her by her name again. "You did that charm, and you tried to help my team win. And to me, that's… well…"
And then his lips were pressed against hers, and that strange feeling inside her solidified itself into something she would lay in bed pondering over for many nights to come. When the kiss ended, Oliver's face was a brilliant beaming red and he could only meet her gaze for a brief few seconds as he murmured, "Thanks." With that, he made a bee-line for the dorms.
She stared after him and listened as the nearby second year girls started to giggle. Hermione Granger had just learned a very important lesson—the way to Oliver Wood's heart was through his Quidditch.
Not a big Oliver/Hermione shipper, but… what can I say. The dynamics intrigue me. It's only a one-shot, but it's been suggested I write a sequel, which I might, if the mood ever strikes. But enough about me. Hope you enjoyed it!
-- Ginevieve