woodfic: All Things Ordinary
This is a Mary Sue. I wrote it as such, mainly to cheer myself up one hellish dady at work. I posted it, a few people found it cute, so I continued it. Now, 20 something months later, it's finally done. Whew. It might be silly and stupid, but it makes me happy. Unbeta'd 'cause it doesn't really matter.
was he the boy, the boy who stole your heart?
- the anniversary
All Things Ordinary
The steam and heat weren't oppressive, yet. But Miranda waved a hand in front of her face anyway, useless as it was.
"Wood? Oliver! Are you in here?"
"Oi, woman! Can't a man get a little privacy?" His voice came from the showers, which wasn't a surprise. Fred and George told her he was still in there. Trying to drown himself or something, the silly prat.
She sighed dramatically, because with Oliver it was all about the dramatics. Or at least most of the time. "Not when he's acting like a big baby."
Miranda spotted Oliver's things on the bench: muddy cleats, beaten leather pads for his shins and arms, scarlet and gold quidditch robes that had been thrown haphazardly into his locker. She could tell that he was really in a state; he hadn’t bothered to put anything away. It was a sure sign he was upset. Oliver Wood was a great believer in creating order out of chaos. He liked to have everything under control.
The locker room was empty; everyone had cleared out long ago. The rest of the team was visiting Harry and everyone else was trying to get warm in their respective common rooms. The Hufflepuff victory wasn't as sweet as it should've been. The students were all cold, wet and miserable, and then the Dementors stormed the field. Miranda thought it was a wonder Madame Pomfrey hadn't smothered them all with chocolate.
She walked over to the shower stalls, formed from the same grey stone as the rest of the locker room, and leaned against the outside wall. Miranda folded her arms across her chest, and turned her head as she spoke so that her voice would carry into the showers where Wood was hiding.
"Harry's going to be fine, Oliver. Everything's going to be fine."
No response. Miranda was starting to fear the worst.
"Oliver?"
Then finally she heard his voice. It was thin and raspy and it hurt her to hear it. "It's all over, Miranda. Over before it had even begun."
"It's one match, Wood. One bloody match. You're Seeker is fine, and you'd know that if you'd actually come out and go see about him." Her patience was most definitely wearing thin. "It's not the end of the world." Miranda sighed wearily. "This is ridiculous. I'm not going to talk to you like this."
"This means you're leaving me alone, yeah?"
"No, it just means that I'm not going to talk to you around a wall." The poor bastard had actually sounded hopeful, but it was insane talking to him like this. "Cover the family jewels, Wood. I'm coming in!"
The squeak from Oliver following her announcement made it all worthwhile. "You're bloody insane! I'm starkers! And you're a girl!"
"Thanks for the information," Miranda replied sarcastically. She had no real intention of going in there. Well, not really. She just knew that would be the quickest way to get him out of there. Miranda was cold and wet as well, and the idea of the fire in her common room was sounding better and better. Even if her source for Transfiguration notes was about to wash away. "I'm coming in, Oliver."
There was a flash of skin and towel as Wood ran out. He stopped midway between the showers and his locker and looked up at her with big brown eyes. "You're...you're just..." he sputtered.
Miranda knew she was cruel to him sometimes, but it was so much fun. He got so worked up over things that he was an easy target, so she just stood there, shit eating grin firmly in place.
"Hey --"
"Will that preserve your modesty?" Miranda nodded towards the towel Oliver held around his waist.
His response was downright cheery. "It'll do right nicely, thanks."
Welcome to the wonderful world of The Mercurial Oliver Wood. From morbidly obsessed to jovial faster than the new Firebolt.
"You're an wicked woman, you. Now turn around while I get dressed."
She couldn't resist giggling. He looked so befuddled and his hair was dripping wet (still too short to twist into funny shapes when she wanted to annoy him) but Miranda turned around anyway. He threw a towel on her head for the trouble.
"Thanks."
"You're wet too." He was right, so she squeezed the excess water from her hair with the towel.
"You can turn around now."
He was pulling his sweater, the dark grey donegal, over his head. The years on the quidditch pitch had made him lean and muscular and watching him now Miranda started to understand exactly why the girls were starting to give her dirty looks. The rumors weren't true, but they didn't know that.
Oliver straddled the bench to put on his shoes and she sat across from him doing the same. Her uniform skirt and work robes were long enough that it wasn’t completely unladylike, but Miranda knew she could expect one hell of a Howler if her mother ever found out she sat that way.
"It's all ruined. Right out of the gate," Oliver said. He tied the last knot in his laces but didn't look up.
"Don't be silly, Oliver. First off, it's Hufflepuff."
He grunted at that.
She continued on, "Second, anyone with two eyes -- and especially those with three -- could tell what happened. The last I heard, Cedric was even arguing for some sort of rematch."
He looked up at that. "Good ol' Ced. Stand up fellow, he is."
Miranda sighed. "He is. And so are you, or at least you would be if you got off your arse and started to act like Captain. Harry's up in hospital and you're in here feeling sorry for yourself."
She watched him flinch ever so slightly at her remark. For a second Miranda thought she might have been just a bit too harsh but then Oliver's face softened.
"This is our last year, Miranda. I have to be signed by the end of it."
He was utterly serious now and Miranda could hear the worry in his voice. Wood didn't get really serious that often. Everyone thought he was really serious when he outlined plays, but it was nothing compared to the look on his face at that moment.
"I haven't got anything to fall back on."
It broke her heart to hear him say that. "Rubbish," she replied sternly. "Don't even think that for a second, Oliver." Miranda got off the bench and moved to lean against the lockers.
"You're good at loads of things. You'll have offers from half the Ministry offices and private companies alike!"
"What are you playing at? I have no idea what I'm going to do. Neither do Issiah or Olivia or anyone else!" Miranda's face was flushed and she realized that her voice was raised.
"You're ahead of us all, don't you see? You excel at quidditch and any team would be happy to have you, even if you had to play in the wilds of Eastern Europe you'd have someplace to go. And you're a natural leader, even if people sometimes think you're nutters about it all. Plus I know you have actual skills to fall back on."
When Oliver looked up at her with hope in his eyes, that was when Miranda decided she was just possibly a little bit in love with him after all.
"But..."
She knelt down so they were face to face. "But nothing, Wood. I swear if I find you holed up in some bar, drowning your sorrows cheap firewhisky, I'll --"
"You'll what?"
He smiled then, wide and happy. He was daring her. Stupid git, she thought. All his worries about his future were erased with the chance to tease her.
"I'll --"
Miranda knew that Wood was an opportunist, but when he leaned forward and kissed her like it was the most normal thing in the world, she was caught completely off guard. About the time that he put his hands up to her face she had recovered enough from the shock to realize that maybe those fifth year girls might've seen something she hadn't.
When he pulled back Oliver was grinning, but Miranda was sure her mouth was gaping. Highly attractive, she thought to herself. Way to impress the cute insane boy that just kissed you senseless, silly.
"The conversation was getting a little one sided," he said, smirking.
That was an explanation?
"And you were right. I am ahead of you."
Miranda was still in shock, confused, and she felt her temper rising.
He evidently spotted it. "At least at some things," he winked.
She gasped. Miranda was stunned, floored even, and more than a little bit intrigued in spite of herself. She had always thought she was quite observant, but obviously --
"Cheeky bastard."
But Oliver just continued to smile away like nothing had happened. But it had, it really had.
"Think Madame Pomfrey has kicked everyone out of hospital yet?"
He stood up and held out his hand, waiting for her’s to join it. He pulled her up and Miranda was once again reminded how strong Oliver really was.
"You know your mum will kill you if she ever finds out that you've been hanging around with me in the locker room."
She turned to him and smiled. "You're right, she will. But my dad will kill you when he finds out that you've got designs on his only daughter."
Miranda pulled her hand from his and raced out into the rain. Oliver was following hard on her heels.
"Hey! Who said anything about designs!"
PART II
It occurred to Oliver that he might have to rethink his timetable just a bit. In his world (or at least the one he had constructed from Muggle films) Miranda should've been sneaking into his dormitory a week ago. That's what happened with public declarations of, er, love -- first you said it, then there was to be copious amounts of snogging as the girl fell head over heals for your irrepressible charm, and then the shagging would soon commence. That was the natural order of things.
Except Miranda was treating him just like always -- she was even completely ignoring him for Professor Binns of all people. Granted, this was her favourite class (and people thought he was mad?), but still, he wanted her to at least acknowledge his presence. After all, he was the one that had balanced on the end of a metaphorical broomstick by kissing her like that.
Oliver screwed up his face in frustration. This was not at all fair. He chanced a glance to his left where Miranda sat the same as always, focused intently on whatever it was that Binns was droning on about this week. He had to do something, the status quo was driving him insane.
So spurred on by mad impulse he moved his free hand under the desk so that it just brushed against Miranda's leg. Her answering yelp wasn’t exactly what Oliver had been hoping for. It was not going well.
Professor Binns was startled (which was kind of funny for a ghost, he thought) by Miranda's outburst.
"Miss Día?"
To her credit, Miranda recovered quickly. "Nothing Professor. Just a sudden draft, that's all."
Wood felt his heart rate drop back to reasonable levels but then he caught sight of Miranda glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't looked that angry with him since he accidentally knocked her off her broomstick during second year. His excuse of “mad bludger” hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped. Her matter of fact response had been, “Yes Oliver, but all bludgers are mad. So why did you have to knock into me to prove it?” The girl was maddening.
"What was that?" Miranda whispered harshly as soon as Binns started talking again.
"Nothing," he answered innocently. Oliver knew that it would work just about as well as the mad bludger defense.
*****
"Hullo, Oliver."
"Oliver."
Wood looked warily at the Weasley twins sitting across from him. There was mischief afoot, ah yes. "Afternoon boys. Up for practice tonight? We really need to work on that --" He never got to finish his train of thought.
"Oh sure, we’re ready --," replied George.
"Especially if --"
"Miranda's going to meet you in the locker room after." Their faces broke into grins that would make even McGonagall wince.
Oliver felt the blood draining from his face but he tried to make his expression as blank as possible. Showing fear in front of the twins was just like inviting a banshee in for tea and then asking it to stay for supper. He eyed a tasty looking roll instead, hoping that he could feign ignorance well enough to escape the questioning that was sure to follow now that Fred and George had smelled the blood in the water.
"What do you mean?"
"We mean," Fred looked to George and nodded, "that we know about what happened after the Hufflepuff match."
"Think of it, the fine, upstanding Gryffindor Quidditch Captain making inappropriate use of the locker rooms for his own nefarious benefit. For shame, Captain."
"And then you had the gall not to share any of the details! Honestly Oliver, what kind of role model are you?"
A very good one, thank you, but that wasn't the issue. Oliver could feel his cheeks burning. So much for feigning ignorance. "Nothing happened!" he hissed. He saw Percy eye him suspiciously from several seats down the table. However, the twins were his main concern at the moment and they were showing signs of an obnoxious laughing fit.
"Seriously now, Miranda just came in and got me off my sorry arse --"
"Oh I bet she did!" George hooted.
"Stop that! You know she's --"
"Right behind you, mate."
He should've felt her eyes boring into his back from the Ravenclaw table, but he'd been so distracted by the Unholy Duo, he hadn't even heard Miranda come up behind him.
"Now George, Fred, you know that 'she's'," Miranda said the word with just enough venom in her voice to set the three boys on edge, "an excellent witch with very creative methods. Be careful what you imply."
Miranda’s smile was sickly-sweet when Oliver turned a half-inch to look at her. He knew all too well how creative Miranda could be. She’d once cast a knee-reversing hex on a fellow Ravenclaw seventh year that gotten a little too fresh in the library. Brilliant spell, but she had served detention with Madame Pince for week afterward. Still, no one had dared to touch her since. Except Oliver.
He was suddenly very afraid. Oliver rather liked his knees the way they were, thank you.
When she spoke again, her voice was right in his ear. She had leaned down so only he could hear what she said. "We need to talk. Soon."
And with that she stalked out of the room, her work robes billowing behind her. Oliver was shocked to notice that a few of his fellow seventh years turned to watch her exit with more than a passing interest.
"Wow," George choked out. "We better warn Ron and Harry. That's gonna be Hermione in a couple of years."
Fred grinned back at Oliver, his eyes sparkling. "A galleon that Hermione never sneaks into the locker room to surprise her boyfriend, though."
PART III
After she stalked out of the Great Hall that day, Miranda wanted nothing more than to be safe and sound in her mother’s kitchen, a warm cup of hot chocolate in front of her and all worries of Oliver Wood a world away. The next best thing was a note home.
Dear Mum,
Remember Oliver? Well, I think he likes me or some such nonsense. But really, he’s acting like a giant prat. He practically groped me in Binns’ class for Merlin’s sake! I don’t know what to do -- hit him or kiss him. Please advise.
Your loving, if confused daughter,
Miranda
PS -- Please send another pair of mittens with all speed. I think Oliver nicked mine the other week.
The reply arrived the following morning over breakfast. Miranda hastily caught the note before the owl dropped it in her porridge and stuffed it in the inside pocket of her work robes; she would read it later. The queasy feeling in her stomach had been there since the previous evening, and when she looked across to the Gryffindor table only to catch Oliver’s eye in the process, she felt overwhelmed.
It was all just too insane. Miranda only hoped that her mother would have some sage wisdom on the subject and rest her fears once and for all.
Unfortunately Miranda didn’t get the chance to read her mother’s note until after Herbology, her last class of the day. Everyone had left the greenhouses right away, but Miranda hung behind so she could walk back to the castle by herself.
Dear Miranda,
There’s an Oliver shaped dent in the side of the house where he flew into it last summer, so really, it would be hard to forget him all things considered.
But you say that Oliver nicked your mittens? My dear, didn’t you learn anything by reading all those romance novels?
And “groping” in class -- I’m sure you’re exaggerating, though if I remember correctly three hundred Ever Bashing Boomerangs could go off in Binns’ class and he wouldn’t notice, the daft old ghost. Though do tell Oliver, if you ever get the sense to speak to him in a civil tone again (I know you, daughter. You just gave him The Look, didn’t you?), that he should find a better time and place to make advances. Classrooms are no place for that kind of behaviour.
In short, talk to him. Without yelling, Miranda -- and behave like the two of you always have...but now with a little more of the hand holding and cannoodling that’s always involved with young romance.
So kissing, not hitting, is reccommended.
Hugs,
M
PS -- What color mittens would you like, red or blue?
Miranda sighed in fustration. Sometimes her mother was entirely too practical. And no help at all.
Miranda tucked her scarf tighter and then crossed her arms and buried her mittenless hands under her arms to keep them warm. Damn Oliver, first he stole her mittens and now he was driving her completely mad...and her mother was obviously in on the plot!
It was late afternoon and the sunlight was fading, and Miranda felt her resistance to the whole situation fading with it. She hadn’t talked to Oliver since the previous day, and when she really thought about it, she hadn’t had a normal conversation with him in weeks. Since that first kiss everything had been turned on its head and frankly Miranda was exhausted.
She just wanted her friend back.
Most of the paintings at Hogwarts were what might be called eccentric. Well, not necessarily the paintings themselves, but the people in the paintings. Sir Cadogan was certifiably insane and Miranda secretly believed that Cervantes had known Cadogan (or the painting at the very least) once upon a time. The Fat Lady that guarded Gryffindor Tower was the castle gossip; if there was anything worth knowing, she knew it and had it passed throughout the long, lonely corridors of the school within a matter of hours.
Miranda’s favourite painting was mid-way up the second floor staircase in the west wing of the castle. Sebastian was locked in a perpetual battle with the giant squid -- the very same one that resided in the lake right outside the castle. She had been lost early on her first year at Hogwarts and Sebastian had taken the time (the squid having been subduded for the time being) to point her in the right direction.
Miranda rubbed her hands together in a vain effort to try and regain feeling. “Afternoon, Sebastian.”
“Miranda!” he squawked. “I’d love to chat, but I’m a little pre-occupied at the moment!”
Indeed he was. The squid was reaching out with its tentacles and Sebastian looked like he was having a devil of a time trying to avoid being smashed.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
While swerving to avoid yet another tentacle, Sebastian dropped to his knees and shouted, “Stupefy!” It was a particularly strong stunning spell because the squid reeled back and fell under the water, bubbles rising to the surface as it sank.
Miranda clapped her hand. “Very nice!”
“Thank you.” Sebastian bowed regally and smiled. “You look chilled, dear. Where are your mittens!”
“Oliver stole them. Mum hasn’t sent me a replacement pair yet.”
He cocked his head to the side and considered her carefully. “Why would Oliver steal your mittens?”
She huffed in fustration. “I don’t know! Why does Oliver do anything? He practices in the driving rain, wants to repeal the foul on haversacking -- which is completely mad because then he’d have to defend against a whole person going through the goal and not just a quaffle...”
“Be careful, Miranda, you’re smiling.” Sebastian tried his very best to look innocent. “Now if I remember correctly, Mr. Wood has Charms as his last class...”
Miranda narrowed her eyes, “Sebastian, are you in on this too?”
“Whatever do you mean?” The corners of Sebastian’s lips curled up in a smile. And then he winked.
******
Oliver and Miranda had met in Charms during their first year at Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick had been trying to teach them all how to perform the levitation charm, good old “Swish and Flick”, only Oliver had been a little over enthusiastic (as always) with his flicking. His wand had sailed across the room like an arrow and sunk in the dark and etched wood right above Miranda’s head. Later Miranda told him she thought it was damned funny that almost being impaled by an eight inch piece of rosewood made them best friends, but that’s exactly what had happened.
Thankfully Oliver’s skill in charms had grown over the years. He was so good now that Professor Flitwick had enlisted him to help tutor first years that were as awful as Oliver himself had once been. It was hard work, but on the whole Oliver greatly enjoyed working with the younger children. If he did his job correctly, they were just as manic about performing the spells as he was about most things in his life.
“Right,” Oliver addrressed the children gathered around him, “remember it’s Wingardium Leviosa, and ‘swish and flick’. I want to see precise movements, everyone!”
Miranda had arrived at the classroom door just as Wood was giving his speech and stayed there to watch the scene play out.
The youngsters performed the spell with practiced ease, making their tutor proud. “Very good!”
“Yes, very good!” Miranda walked into the classroom proper, applauding the first years. “Oliver, you’ve got charm to spare,” she smiled smugly, coming to stand next to him. Miranda turned to the children, “Just remember, if he makes you work too hard, ask him to tell you about the first time he had to perform the Levitation Charm.”
One bright-eyed boy instantly perked up. “What happened?” he asked.
“Miranda…” Wood said, his frustration evident.
“What?”
“That’s enough for this week, kids. Just remember to practice, practice, and practice again!”
Even though they loved their tutor, the first years scrambled out of the classroom as fast as their small legs could carry them. Oliver turned to her as soon as the last child was out the door.
“Good afternoon, Miranda. Thank you ever so much for interrupting my tutoring session.”
Miranda had the good sense to look guilty. “I’m sorry. It was an impulse. But they really should know that their tutor nearly killed someone in such a spectacular fashion --“
“I did not nearly kill you! And it was an accident!” he squeaked.
“It was the Levitation Charm of Destiny, Oliver!” Miranda flung herself at Oliver with a bit of dramatic flair. “It was your wand that brought us together!”
Confusion was plain on Oliver Wood’s face. He had barely spoken to his best friend in the past weeks, and now she was in his arms, making lewd references to their first meeting. “You are completely mad, woman. What am I to do with you?”
The game had gone far enough. “I have no idea, Oliver. Ever since the Hufflepuff game, nothing has been the same between us.” Miranda separated herself from Oliver and took a few steps back.
“I had rather hoped that they wouldn’t stay the same.”
“And I had rather hoped that it might all have been a dream. I don’t deal with things like this well. Remember Jonas Collins and the library?”
Wood shuddered. “All too well. For a while there I thought that I might suffer the same fate.”
“I’d never do that to you!” Miranda gasped. “I guess I really didn’t mind what happened in Binns’ class, but you surprised me, that’s all.”
“Eh, sorry ‘bout that,” he blushed.
Miranda laughed. “Don’t worry, it made my mum laugh. She just said to tell you that you needed to quote ‘find a better time and place to make advances’ unquote.”
“You told your mother about that?!”
“Don’t worry,” Miranda laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “She’s all in favor of this.” Miranda mimicked her mother’s northern accent, “Kissing, not hitting, daughter.”
Miranda Día wasn’t one to take her mother’s advice one hundred percent of the time, but sometimes the maternal one really did know what she was talking about. So in the end, after all that trouble, Miranda gave in to the inevitable and kissed Oliver Wood, and kissed him properly. She’d been living with his special brand of chaos for the past seven years, how much worse could it get?
“Miss Día! Mr Wood!” Minerva McGonagall’s voice reverberated off the stone walls of the room. “Just what exactly is going on here?”
******
“We should be glad it was McGonagall that caught us.”
“At least I know that I’m not the only one in this relationship that needs to learn about ‘appropriate places and appropriate times’.
“Very funny, Oliver. But I don’t seem to remember you protesting before McGonagall came in.”
“What was there to complain about?”
“Ugh! Just pass the paint, Oliver. This is worse than working for Madame Pince for a week.”
“How can you say that? All we have to do is paint the Quidditch goal posts. This is easy.”
“Easy yes, but I have to do it with you. And you might have many skills, Oliver, but painting is not one of them.”
Oliver flew over and kissed Miranda on the cheek. “Think of it this way: there’s still plenty of skills left over for you to discover.”
Miranda rolled her eyes and brushed a little bit of gold paint onto Oliver’s nose. “You are going to drive me even more insane.” She kissed his cheek like he had done to her. “Now when can we find some time to discover all these skills of yours?”
-- the end --
Major thanks and hugs go out to nickless, kstanley, musesfool, and trickster_, for poking me at various points over this past year and change. Love to you all.
was he the boy, the boy who stole your heart?
- the anniversary
All Things Ordinary
The steam and heat weren't oppressive, yet. But Miranda waved a hand in front of her face anyway, useless as it was.
"Wood? Oliver! Are you in here?"
"Oi, woman! Can't a man get a little privacy?" His voice came from the showers, which wasn't a surprise. Fred and George told her he was still in there. Trying to drown himself or something, the silly prat.
She sighed dramatically, because with Oliver it was all about the dramatics. Or at least most of the time. "Not when he's acting like a big baby."
Miranda spotted Oliver's things on the bench: muddy cleats, beaten leather pads for his shins and arms, scarlet and gold quidditch robes that had been thrown haphazardly into his locker. She could tell that he was really in a state; he hadn’t bothered to put anything away. It was a sure sign he was upset. Oliver Wood was a great believer in creating order out of chaos. He liked to have everything under control.
The locker room was empty; everyone had cleared out long ago. The rest of the team was visiting Harry and everyone else was trying to get warm in their respective common rooms. The Hufflepuff victory wasn't as sweet as it should've been. The students were all cold, wet and miserable, and then the Dementors stormed the field. Miranda thought it was a wonder Madame Pomfrey hadn't smothered them all with chocolate.
She walked over to the shower stalls, formed from the same grey stone as the rest of the locker room, and leaned against the outside wall. Miranda folded her arms across her chest, and turned her head as she spoke so that her voice would carry into the showers where Wood was hiding.
"Harry's going to be fine, Oliver. Everything's going to be fine."
No response. Miranda was starting to fear the worst.
"Oliver?"
Then finally she heard his voice. It was thin and raspy and it hurt her to hear it. "It's all over, Miranda. Over before it had even begun."
"It's one match, Wood. One bloody match. You're Seeker is fine, and you'd know that if you'd actually come out and go see about him." Her patience was most definitely wearing thin. "It's not the end of the world." Miranda sighed wearily. "This is ridiculous. I'm not going to talk to you like this."
"This means you're leaving me alone, yeah?"
"No, it just means that I'm not going to talk to you around a wall." The poor bastard had actually sounded hopeful, but it was insane talking to him like this. "Cover the family jewels, Wood. I'm coming in!"
The squeak from Oliver following her announcement made it all worthwhile. "You're bloody insane! I'm starkers! And you're a girl!"
"Thanks for the information," Miranda replied sarcastically. She had no real intention of going in there. Well, not really. She just knew that would be the quickest way to get him out of there. Miranda was cold and wet as well, and the idea of the fire in her common room was sounding better and better. Even if her source for Transfiguration notes was about to wash away. "I'm coming in, Oliver."
There was a flash of skin and towel as Wood ran out. He stopped midway between the showers and his locker and looked up at her with big brown eyes. "You're...you're just..." he sputtered.
Miranda knew she was cruel to him sometimes, but it was so much fun. He got so worked up over things that he was an easy target, so she just stood there, shit eating grin firmly in place.
"Hey --"
"Will that preserve your modesty?" Miranda nodded towards the towel Oliver held around his waist.
His response was downright cheery. "It'll do right nicely, thanks."
Welcome to the wonderful world of The Mercurial Oliver Wood. From morbidly obsessed to jovial faster than the new Firebolt.
"You're an wicked woman, you. Now turn around while I get dressed."
She couldn't resist giggling. He looked so befuddled and his hair was dripping wet (still too short to twist into funny shapes when she wanted to annoy him) but Miranda turned around anyway. He threw a towel on her head for the trouble.
"Thanks."
"You're wet too." He was right, so she squeezed the excess water from her hair with the towel.
"You can turn around now."
He was pulling his sweater, the dark grey donegal, over his head. The years on the quidditch pitch had made him lean and muscular and watching him now Miranda started to understand exactly why the girls were starting to give her dirty looks. The rumors weren't true, but they didn't know that.
Oliver straddled the bench to put on his shoes and she sat across from him doing the same. Her uniform skirt and work robes were long enough that it wasn’t completely unladylike, but Miranda knew she could expect one hell of a Howler if her mother ever found out she sat that way.
"It's all ruined. Right out of the gate," Oliver said. He tied the last knot in his laces but didn't look up.
"Don't be silly, Oliver. First off, it's Hufflepuff."
He grunted at that.
She continued on, "Second, anyone with two eyes -- and especially those with three -- could tell what happened. The last I heard, Cedric was even arguing for some sort of rematch."
He looked up at that. "Good ol' Ced. Stand up fellow, he is."
Miranda sighed. "He is. And so are you, or at least you would be if you got off your arse and started to act like Captain. Harry's up in hospital and you're in here feeling sorry for yourself."
She watched him flinch ever so slightly at her remark. For a second Miranda thought she might have been just a bit too harsh but then Oliver's face softened.
"This is our last year, Miranda. I have to be signed by the end of it."
He was utterly serious now and Miranda could hear the worry in his voice. Wood didn't get really serious that often. Everyone thought he was really serious when he outlined plays, but it was nothing compared to the look on his face at that moment.
"I haven't got anything to fall back on."
It broke her heart to hear him say that. "Rubbish," she replied sternly. "Don't even think that for a second, Oliver." Miranda got off the bench and moved to lean against the lockers.
"You're good at loads of things. You'll have offers from half the Ministry offices and private companies alike!"
"What are you playing at? I have no idea what I'm going to do. Neither do Issiah or Olivia or anyone else!" Miranda's face was flushed and she realized that her voice was raised.
"You're ahead of us all, don't you see? You excel at quidditch and any team would be happy to have you, even if you had to play in the wilds of Eastern Europe you'd have someplace to go. And you're a natural leader, even if people sometimes think you're nutters about it all. Plus I know you have actual skills to fall back on."
When Oliver looked up at her with hope in his eyes, that was when Miranda decided she was just possibly a little bit in love with him after all.
"But..."
She knelt down so they were face to face. "But nothing, Wood. I swear if I find you holed up in some bar, drowning your sorrows cheap firewhisky, I'll --"
"You'll what?"
He smiled then, wide and happy. He was daring her. Stupid git, she thought. All his worries about his future were erased with the chance to tease her.
"I'll --"
Miranda knew that Wood was an opportunist, but when he leaned forward and kissed her like it was the most normal thing in the world, she was caught completely off guard. About the time that he put his hands up to her face she had recovered enough from the shock to realize that maybe those fifth year girls might've seen something she hadn't.
When he pulled back Oliver was grinning, but Miranda was sure her mouth was gaping. Highly attractive, she thought to herself. Way to impress the cute insane boy that just kissed you senseless, silly.
"The conversation was getting a little one sided," he said, smirking.
That was an explanation?
"And you were right. I am ahead of you."
Miranda was still in shock, confused, and she felt her temper rising.
He evidently spotted it. "At least at some things," he winked.
She gasped. Miranda was stunned, floored even, and more than a little bit intrigued in spite of herself. She had always thought she was quite observant, but obviously --
"Cheeky bastard."
But Oliver just continued to smile away like nothing had happened. But it had, it really had.
"Think Madame Pomfrey has kicked everyone out of hospital yet?"
He stood up and held out his hand, waiting for her’s to join it. He pulled her up and Miranda was once again reminded how strong Oliver really was.
"You know your mum will kill you if she ever finds out that you've been hanging around with me in the locker room."
She turned to him and smiled. "You're right, she will. But my dad will kill you when he finds out that you've got designs on his only daughter."
Miranda pulled her hand from his and raced out into the rain. Oliver was following hard on her heels.
"Hey! Who said anything about designs!"
PART II
It occurred to Oliver that he might have to rethink his timetable just a bit. In his world (or at least the one he had constructed from Muggle films) Miranda should've been sneaking into his dormitory a week ago. That's what happened with public declarations of, er, love -- first you said it, then there was to be copious amounts of snogging as the girl fell head over heals for your irrepressible charm, and then the shagging would soon commence. That was the natural order of things.
Except Miranda was treating him just like always -- she was even completely ignoring him for Professor Binns of all people. Granted, this was her favourite class (and people thought he was mad?), but still, he wanted her to at least acknowledge his presence. After all, he was the one that had balanced on the end of a metaphorical broomstick by kissing her like that.
Oliver screwed up his face in frustration. This was not at all fair. He chanced a glance to his left where Miranda sat the same as always, focused intently on whatever it was that Binns was droning on about this week. He had to do something, the status quo was driving him insane.
So spurred on by mad impulse he moved his free hand under the desk so that it just brushed against Miranda's leg. Her answering yelp wasn’t exactly what Oliver had been hoping for. It was not going well.
Professor Binns was startled (which was kind of funny for a ghost, he thought) by Miranda's outburst.
"Miss Día?"
To her credit, Miranda recovered quickly. "Nothing Professor. Just a sudden draft, that's all."
Wood felt his heart rate drop back to reasonable levels but then he caught sight of Miranda glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't looked that angry with him since he accidentally knocked her off her broomstick during second year. His excuse of “mad bludger” hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped. Her matter of fact response had been, “Yes Oliver, but all bludgers are mad. So why did you have to knock into me to prove it?” The girl was maddening.
"What was that?" Miranda whispered harshly as soon as Binns started talking again.
"Nothing," he answered innocently. Oliver knew that it would work just about as well as the mad bludger defense.
*****
"Hullo, Oliver."
"Oliver."
Wood looked warily at the Weasley twins sitting across from him. There was mischief afoot, ah yes. "Afternoon boys. Up for practice tonight? We really need to work on that --" He never got to finish his train of thought.
"Oh sure, we’re ready --," replied George.
"Especially if --"
"Miranda's going to meet you in the locker room after." Their faces broke into grins that would make even McGonagall wince.
Oliver felt the blood draining from his face but he tried to make his expression as blank as possible. Showing fear in front of the twins was just like inviting a banshee in for tea and then asking it to stay for supper. He eyed a tasty looking roll instead, hoping that he could feign ignorance well enough to escape the questioning that was sure to follow now that Fred and George had smelled the blood in the water.
"What do you mean?"
"We mean," Fred looked to George and nodded, "that we know about what happened after the Hufflepuff match."
"Think of it, the fine, upstanding Gryffindor Quidditch Captain making inappropriate use of the locker rooms for his own nefarious benefit. For shame, Captain."
"And then you had the gall not to share any of the details! Honestly Oliver, what kind of role model are you?"
A very good one, thank you, but that wasn't the issue. Oliver could feel his cheeks burning. So much for feigning ignorance. "Nothing happened!" he hissed. He saw Percy eye him suspiciously from several seats down the table. However, the twins were his main concern at the moment and they were showing signs of an obnoxious laughing fit.
"Seriously now, Miranda just came in and got me off my sorry arse --"
"Oh I bet she did!" George hooted.
"Stop that! You know she's --"
"Right behind you, mate."
He should've felt her eyes boring into his back from the Ravenclaw table, but he'd been so distracted by the Unholy Duo, he hadn't even heard Miranda come up behind him.
"Now George, Fred, you know that 'she's'," Miranda said the word with just enough venom in her voice to set the three boys on edge, "an excellent witch with very creative methods. Be careful what you imply."
Miranda’s smile was sickly-sweet when Oliver turned a half-inch to look at her. He knew all too well how creative Miranda could be. She’d once cast a knee-reversing hex on a fellow Ravenclaw seventh year that gotten a little too fresh in the library. Brilliant spell, but she had served detention with Madame Pince for week afterward. Still, no one had dared to touch her since. Except Oliver.
He was suddenly very afraid. Oliver rather liked his knees the way they were, thank you.
When she spoke again, her voice was right in his ear. She had leaned down so only he could hear what she said. "We need to talk. Soon."
And with that she stalked out of the room, her work robes billowing behind her. Oliver was shocked to notice that a few of his fellow seventh years turned to watch her exit with more than a passing interest.
"Wow," George choked out. "We better warn Ron and Harry. That's gonna be Hermione in a couple of years."
Fred grinned back at Oliver, his eyes sparkling. "A galleon that Hermione never sneaks into the locker room to surprise her boyfriend, though."
PART III
After she stalked out of the Great Hall that day, Miranda wanted nothing more than to be safe and sound in her mother’s kitchen, a warm cup of hot chocolate in front of her and all worries of Oliver Wood a world away. The next best thing was a note home.
Dear Mum,
Remember Oliver? Well, I think he likes me or some such nonsense. But really, he’s acting like a giant prat. He practically groped me in Binns’ class for Merlin’s sake! I don’t know what to do -- hit him or kiss him. Please advise.
Your loving, if confused daughter,
Miranda
PS -- Please send another pair of mittens with all speed. I think Oliver nicked mine the other week.
The reply arrived the following morning over breakfast. Miranda hastily caught the note before the owl dropped it in her porridge and stuffed it in the inside pocket of her work robes; she would read it later. The queasy feeling in her stomach had been there since the previous evening, and when she looked across to the Gryffindor table only to catch Oliver’s eye in the process, she felt overwhelmed.
It was all just too insane. Miranda only hoped that her mother would have some sage wisdom on the subject and rest her fears once and for all.
Unfortunately Miranda didn’t get the chance to read her mother’s note until after Herbology, her last class of the day. Everyone had left the greenhouses right away, but Miranda hung behind so she could walk back to the castle by herself.
Dear Miranda,
There’s an Oliver shaped dent in the side of the house where he flew into it last summer, so really, it would be hard to forget him all things considered.
But you say that Oliver nicked your mittens? My dear, didn’t you learn anything by reading all those romance novels?
And “groping” in class -- I’m sure you’re exaggerating, though if I remember correctly three hundred Ever Bashing Boomerangs could go off in Binns’ class and he wouldn’t notice, the daft old ghost. Though do tell Oliver, if you ever get the sense to speak to him in a civil tone again (I know you, daughter. You just gave him The Look, didn’t you?), that he should find a better time and place to make advances. Classrooms are no place for that kind of behaviour.
In short, talk to him. Without yelling, Miranda -- and behave like the two of you always have...but now with a little more of the hand holding and cannoodling that’s always involved with young romance.
So kissing, not hitting, is reccommended.
Hugs,
M
PS -- What color mittens would you like, red or blue?
Miranda sighed in fustration. Sometimes her mother was entirely too practical. And no help at all.
Miranda tucked her scarf tighter and then crossed her arms and buried her mittenless hands under her arms to keep them warm. Damn Oliver, first he stole her mittens and now he was driving her completely mad...and her mother was obviously in on the plot!
It was late afternoon and the sunlight was fading, and Miranda felt her resistance to the whole situation fading with it. She hadn’t talked to Oliver since the previous day, and when she really thought about it, she hadn’t had a normal conversation with him in weeks. Since that first kiss everything had been turned on its head and frankly Miranda was exhausted.
She just wanted her friend back.
Most of the paintings at Hogwarts were what might be called eccentric. Well, not necessarily the paintings themselves, but the people in the paintings. Sir Cadogan was certifiably insane and Miranda secretly believed that Cervantes had known Cadogan (or the painting at the very least) once upon a time. The Fat Lady that guarded Gryffindor Tower was the castle gossip; if there was anything worth knowing, she knew it and had it passed throughout the long, lonely corridors of the school within a matter of hours.
Miranda’s favourite painting was mid-way up the second floor staircase in the west wing of the castle. Sebastian was locked in a perpetual battle with the giant squid -- the very same one that resided in the lake right outside the castle. She had been lost early on her first year at Hogwarts and Sebastian had taken the time (the squid having been subduded for the time being) to point her in the right direction.
Miranda rubbed her hands together in a vain effort to try and regain feeling. “Afternoon, Sebastian.”
“Miranda!” he squawked. “I’d love to chat, but I’m a little pre-occupied at the moment!”
Indeed he was. The squid was reaching out with its tentacles and Sebastian looked like he was having a devil of a time trying to avoid being smashed.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
While swerving to avoid yet another tentacle, Sebastian dropped to his knees and shouted, “Stupefy!” It was a particularly strong stunning spell because the squid reeled back and fell under the water, bubbles rising to the surface as it sank.
Miranda clapped her hand. “Very nice!”
“Thank you.” Sebastian bowed regally and smiled. “You look chilled, dear. Where are your mittens!”
“Oliver stole them. Mum hasn’t sent me a replacement pair yet.”
He cocked his head to the side and considered her carefully. “Why would Oliver steal your mittens?”
She huffed in fustration. “I don’t know! Why does Oliver do anything? He practices in the driving rain, wants to repeal the foul on haversacking -- which is completely mad because then he’d have to defend against a whole person going through the goal and not just a quaffle...”
“Be careful, Miranda, you’re smiling.” Sebastian tried his very best to look innocent. “Now if I remember correctly, Mr. Wood has Charms as his last class...”
Miranda narrowed her eyes, “Sebastian, are you in on this too?”
“Whatever do you mean?” The corners of Sebastian’s lips curled up in a smile. And then he winked.
******
Oliver and Miranda had met in Charms during their first year at Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick had been trying to teach them all how to perform the levitation charm, good old “Swish and Flick”, only Oliver had been a little over enthusiastic (as always) with his flicking. His wand had sailed across the room like an arrow and sunk in the dark and etched wood right above Miranda’s head. Later Miranda told him she thought it was damned funny that almost being impaled by an eight inch piece of rosewood made them best friends, but that’s exactly what had happened.
Thankfully Oliver’s skill in charms had grown over the years. He was so good now that Professor Flitwick had enlisted him to help tutor first years that were as awful as Oliver himself had once been. It was hard work, but on the whole Oliver greatly enjoyed working with the younger children. If he did his job correctly, they were just as manic about performing the spells as he was about most things in his life.
“Right,” Oliver addrressed the children gathered around him, “remember it’s Wingardium Leviosa, and ‘swish and flick’. I want to see precise movements, everyone!”
Miranda had arrived at the classroom door just as Wood was giving his speech and stayed there to watch the scene play out.
The youngsters performed the spell with practiced ease, making their tutor proud. “Very good!”
“Yes, very good!” Miranda walked into the classroom proper, applauding the first years. “Oliver, you’ve got charm to spare,” she smiled smugly, coming to stand next to him. Miranda turned to the children, “Just remember, if he makes you work too hard, ask him to tell you about the first time he had to perform the Levitation Charm.”
One bright-eyed boy instantly perked up. “What happened?” he asked.
“Miranda…” Wood said, his frustration evident.
“What?”
“That’s enough for this week, kids. Just remember to practice, practice, and practice again!”
Even though they loved their tutor, the first years scrambled out of the classroom as fast as their small legs could carry them. Oliver turned to her as soon as the last child was out the door.
“Good afternoon, Miranda. Thank you ever so much for interrupting my tutoring session.”
Miranda had the good sense to look guilty. “I’m sorry. It was an impulse. But they really should know that their tutor nearly killed someone in such a spectacular fashion --“
“I did not nearly kill you! And it was an accident!” he squeaked.
“It was the Levitation Charm of Destiny, Oliver!” Miranda flung herself at Oliver with a bit of dramatic flair. “It was your wand that brought us together!”
Confusion was plain on Oliver Wood’s face. He had barely spoken to his best friend in the past weeks, and now she was in his arms, making lewd references to their first meeting. “You are completely mad, woman. What am I to do with you?”
The game had gone far enough. “I have no idea, Oliver. Ever since the Hufflepuff game, nothing has been the same between us.” Miranda separated herself from Oliver and took a few steps back.
“I had rather hoped that they wouldn’t stay the same.”
“And I had rather hoped that it might all have been a dream. I don’t deal with things like this well. Remember Jonas Collins and the library?”
Wood shuddered. “All too well. For a while there I thought that I might suffer the same fate.”
“I’d never do that to you!” Miranda gasped. “I guess I really didn’t mind what happened in Binns’ class, but you surprised me, that’s all.”
“Eh, sorry ‘bout that,” he blushed.
Miranda laughed. “Don’t worry, it made my mum laugh. She just said to tell you that you needed to quote ‘find a better time and place to make advances’ unquote.”
“You told your mother about that?!”
“Don’t worry,” Miranda laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “She’s all in favor of this.” Miranda mimicked her mother’s northern accent, “Kissing, not hitting, daughter.”
Miranda Día wasn’t one to take her mother’s advice one hundred percent of the time, but sometimes the maternal one really did know what she was talking about. So in the end, after all that trouble, Miranda gave in to the inevitable and kissed Oliver Wood, and kissed him properly. She’d been living with his special brand of chaos for the past seven years, how much worse could it get?
“Miss Día! Mr Wood!” Minerva McGonagall’s voice reverberated off the stone walls of the room. “Just what exactly is going on here?”
******
“We should be glad it was McGonagall that caught us.”
“At least I know that I’m not the only one in this relationship that needs to learn about ‘appropriate places and appropriate times’.
“Very funny, Oliver. But I don’t seem to remember you protesting before McGonagall came in.”
“What was there to complain about?”
“Ugh! Just pass the paint, Oliver. This is worse than working for Madame Pince for a week.”
“How can you say that? All we have to do is paint the Quidditch goal posts. This is easy.”
“Easy yes, but I have to do it with you. And you might have many skills, Oliver, but painting is not one of them.”
Oliver flew over and kissed Miranda on the cheek. “Think of it this way: there’s still plenty of skills left over for you to discover.”
Miranda rolled her eyes and brushed a little bit of gold paint onto Oliver’s nose. “You are going to drive me even more insane.” She kissed his cheek like he had done to her. “Now when can we find some time to discover all these skills of yours?”
-- the end --
Major thanks and hugs go out to nickless, kstanley, musesfool, and trickster_, for poking me at various points over this past year and change. Love to you all.