Hi! Woah, it's been a while. I'm working on WiaSaD, and this is just a little something to get me back into writing Harry Potter fic. Don't know if I'll continue, but if I do, it'll be mpreg and eventual DMHP, sorry if you don't like that kind of thing! I seem to like writing Oliver as the 'bad guy' but I promise I like him!
Harry snatched the snitch away with the very tips of his fingers, sweeping it into his chest before the Ravenclaw seeker had the chance to grab it away. For a few seconds all he could hear was the beating of blood in his ears, but as he descended, he heard the raucous cheering of the crowd congratulating him. A grin made its way onto his face and he waved to his friends in air, clutching the snitch firmly. Oliver gave him the thumbs up and the signal for the rest of the team to descend which Harry did with enthusiasm.
Upon hitting the ground he was rushed by the team captain who lifted him up and swung him around with a whoop. Harry's cheeks flushed bright red, and he struggled in vain to get away from the firm grip of Oliver who was hugging the living daylights out of him.
"It was so close I couldn't see who was going to make it but I knew you'd come through and it was such a nice catch and we won! You're amazing, Harry." The last was said while Oliver set him down and ruffled his hair affectionately. Harry had to avert his eyes. After all, if he couldn't see Oliver, then Oliver certainly couldn't see the blush that was threatening to make his head explode.
Harry fidgeted for a bit, rolling the snitch through his fingers, not entirely sure what to say. He'd just opened his mouth, resigning himself to making an utterly inane comment when Fred and George came up, slapping them on the backs with cries of "Nice one, Harry!" and "Never seen so many goals saved, captain," from the beaters. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he was hoisted onto the twins' shoulders and taken away from what may have become an awkward situation quite quickly.
As he joined in the loud singing of the rest of the team, Harry neglected to spare a glance backwards to their captain, who stood there with a confused expression on his face, then shook his head and followed them in.
The party was in full swing when Harry saw Oliver trying to get his attention. He'd all but forgotten the awkwardness experienced with the elder pupil earlier in the day, and so made his way over eagerly enough. Oliver was sitting in the corner, his hand round a large bottle of what looked suspiciously like Firewhiskey. Harry raised an eyebrow upon seeing it more than half-empty.
He was under no delusions as to the fact that the elder students drank, but he'd never seen it, as usually they kept it far away from house parties, where their underclassmen were likely to steal a bit. Harry knew the twins had tried many times to find out where it was stashed and come back hexed up to their eyeballs every time.
Shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts (he was probably just overreacting – after all, what did he know about Firewhiskey?), Harry sat down next to the boy, jumping when Oliver laid a heavy arm around his shoulders. His face flushed again, and Harry cursed himself for being such an open book. Oliver chuckled slightly at him and Harry caught a whiff of his breath, screwing up his nose.
"Oliver… are you drunk?" he asked incredulously. McGonagall could come in at any second to break up the party, and a bunch of seventh years off their heads would probably negate any housepoints they'd gained from the final match of the year. Harry had tried damn hard in that match, and the idea of Oliver ruining that was unpleasant.
But the seventh year merely laughed slightly and waved his arm in an offhand manner, seemingly forgetting that he was still carrying a bottle in that hand. When it sloshed slightly, he started, and Harry rolled his eyes, making to get up. Once again, he was restricted by the Quidditch keeper's strong arms, and Harry began to feel mildly claustrophobic. He looked over to where he had been sitting before, trying to find the shock of red hair that indicated his best friend, but to no avail.
Just when he was starting to get nervous, the pressure over his arms relented, and before he knew it, he was being dragged up the stairs towards the boys' dorms. Harry's eyebrows shot up, and he tugged back, but Oliver had about a foot on him in height and was probably near double his weight. They stopped in the corridor where the seventh year bedrooms were located, and Oliver pressed Harry up against the wall, leaning down so that their breath mingled. Harry was really beginning to dislike the smell of alcohol.
When Oliver began to talk, at first it was so soft that Harry just thought he was hearing things, but it slowly raised in volume to a loud whisper.
"Harry… Harry, you were so great today. It means so much that we won Quidditch this year, y'know, it being my last year and all. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciated that… Sorry if I scared you, but I'd like to show you… Show you how much it means that you did that." Harry was confused. It wasn't as if he'd set out to win the match just for Oliver, and in fact, he'd barely even thought of the other until the match ended. And what did he mean by 'showing him'? Show him what? And –
Harry's thoughts were cut off by a warm wet mouth covering his. His eyes flew open and his hands scrabbled for purchase on the wall behind him. What was he supposed to do? In the movies he'd watched at the Dursleys' it wasn't like this… But then again, he'd never seen two boys kiss on the TV either. Was he supposed to close his eyes, or run his hands through Oliver's hair and make weird moaning sounds? Or did only girls do that?
He was saved from further thought by a gentle hand cupping the back of his head and Oliver moving back slightly. The keeper's eyes were glittering, and he grinned, saying, "Want to come to my room? There's a lot more where that came from if you do."
Harry didn't know why he lowered his eyelashes and looked up at Oliver through them, nodding slightly, but he did. And he didn't know why he followed Oliver into his room, but he did.
Harry woke up with a start, realising quickly that he didn't recognise his surroundings, and he definitely wasn't in his room. The motion sent a jolt of pain up his spine and he froze, remembering just what had happened the previous night. Almost too scared to look over at the space in the bed beside him, Harry turned his head slowly. It was empty. The depression in the bed and slight warmth indicated that Oliver had vacated the bed recently, and Harry frowned. Why hadn't he woken him up? But he shrugged, and rose, wincing. He had to get down to breakfast to try and catch Oliver, because they needed to talk.
He bent down and nearly shrieked at the pain in his backside. Hesitantly, Harry reached a hand back and touched himself lightly, going cold when he felt wetness. Bringing the fingers back, and holding his fingers in front of him, Harry was not surprised to see blood. The sight made him woozy, and he had to reach a hand out to the bedpost to stop himself from falling over. After his head stopped spinning, Harry put on his clothes with a grim expression on his face.
Ron and Hermione weren't anywhere in sight when he went down to the common room, although he wasn't surprised. Ron always liked to get to breakfast as early as possible on a Sunday, as he claimed the food was the best on that particular day of the week. Harry had to admit that he agreed with him, although he wouldn't say it in front of his friend, who would gloat until the cows came home.
So Harry made his way to the Great Hall, wondering what he was going to say to Oliver. I don't know if you remember, but we shagged even the word made him cringe and you made me bleed so um, yeah. Harry rolled his eyes. Maybe it would come to him when he saw the other… As he entered the Hall, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was being watched by everyone present, even though he knew that wasn't the case. He wasn't that self-important, that he thought all eyes were on him. But he was feeling rather self-conscious after the previous night. Would people be able to tell? That he wasn't… That he wasn't a… virgin?
Stiffly, he sat by his friends, greeting them in a subdued manner, while scanning the table for one Oliver Wood. Harry spotted him sitting with his yearmates, and when their eyes connected, sent him a hesitant smile. It was quickly dropped from his face when Oliver's eyes unfocused, pretending that he hadn't just seen Harry. The latter turned back to his breakfast, ignoring the questions from Ron and Hermione as to where he'd been the previous night. Was it bad that he wanted to keep the experience from them? He didn't want Hermione to look at him disapprovingly because Oliver was four years older than him, and he didn't know what Ron would say.
Harry's plate was still half full when he saw Oliver excusing himself from the table. Making his own excuses to his friends, Harry quickly followed, hoping that it didn't look too obvious that he was following the seventh year. He caught up with Oliver in the corridor where his Charms classroom was located. For a second there was silence, then Harry began to speak, deciding to omit the bleeding he'd seen that morning.
"Oliver… Um, about last night…" Harry trailed off, not knowing where to go with this conversation. Was he supposed to say he liked it and wanted to do it again? The very thought of it made his ears burn. He was jerked into attention by Oliver's violent hiss.
"Shut up, Harry. Nothing happened last night, am I clear?" Harry's jaw dropped, and though it moved, no sounds were forthcoming. Oliver sneered at him, saying "Don't look so surprised, alright? Last night was a mistake, I was drunk. It won't happen again."
The Quidditch captain began to pace in front of a stunned Harry, continuing his rant. "Do you know what this could do to me? I've got a girlfriend – we're getting married in the winter!" Harry could feel his fingers growing cold. "I've been scouted for Puddlemere United… I'm going to have a career, for Merlin's sake! I can't let it get out that I had sex with a fourteen year old. You're underage – it's illegal!" Oliver looked towards Harry, who was clearly distressed by this point, beginning to shake slightly. His voice softened and he sighed.
"Listen, it's better for the both of us if we just keep quiet about this, yeah? You don't want people thinking you're a slut, which believe me they will if it gets spread around that you, a fourth year, slept with a seventh year. And I don't want that either, Harry. You're a good kid, and last night was nice… but let's just act like it never happened, okay?" Oliver ruffled his hair, just as he'd done the day before, and left Harry standing in the corridor, alone.
Harry didn't know what to think. On TV, they always made out that the first time was really special, and that you should only do it with someone you loved. Harry liked Oliver (at least, he had), but he'd never loved him. Oliver was right though. Everyone would think him a slut. Probably because he was. Harry sat down with his back to the wall, finally allowing himself to cry.