Similarities: 2/7 for 7spells
Title: Similarities
Author: sugareey
Rating: PG
Characters: Cedric/Oliver
Prompt: disheveled
Word Count: 1,795
Summary: Cedric likes to watch Oliver until he gets caught in the act one day.
Warnings: Consistent with PoA.
Disclaimer: Kudos go to the amazing J.K Rowling for creating the awesome game of Quidditch and the players that go along with it.
A/N: For 7spells. Unbetaed, I know. The full table is located here.
They are both quite similar, he realises one day as he looks up into the sky. From the doorway of the locker rooms, he can’t help but admire the way Oliver flies. Of course, Cedric is a fair flyer himself, but Oliver is still stronger, faster, and more aggressive when he is up in the air. There are times when Oliver takes hours doing laps, flying around and around and around until it makes Cedric dizzy. Oliver will circle the pitch once more before looping around the goal posts. Cedric notices he only uses the Quaffle during team practices. Alicia, Katie or Angelina will be the ones to throw it furiously through the goal posts, except there is never a follow-through. Oliver is always the one to catch the round, red ball with his hands, clutching it tightly toward his chest. There will be a moment where the curve of Oliver’s lips will turn up slightly before he tosses the ball to one of the girls and rounds up the rest of his teammates to begin the routine again.
Cedric knows this much, because he finds himself constantly watching Oliver during Gryffindor practices when time allows him to. Sometimes, he secretly follows Oliver on the days he goes out alone. He can tell Oliver has worked hard to come this far, to play the fair game of Quidditch. So has Cedric. As a team captain himself, he has gone through the same drills of replaying mini-matches while he is on his search for the Snitch. Cedric has speed and endurance when it comes to catching the tiny golden ball, but perhaps that’s the difference between the two of them. He is a Seeker. Oliver is a Keeper. And yet, they still love Quidditch just the same.
When he hears a cough, Cedric immediately snaps out of his daze to find Oliver standing right in front of him. Oliver wipes his forehead with a sleeve before grinning. Cedric smiles back shyly before looking down at the ground.
“Like what you see?”
Cedric’s eyes widen as dart back up at Oliver. “Sorry?”
“I asked if you like what you see, with this beauty right here,” Oliver elaborates, gesturing to his broomstick. “It still holds pretty well, but not as great as a Firebolt, of course.”
“Not too bad,” agrees Cedric, nodding his head with approval. “Lots of professional Quidditch players preferred the Nimbus 1700 when it first came out, y’know. One of the best broomsticks in history.”
“No doubt about it! The Nimbus line was a success from its start, comparing to Cleansweeps and Comets. I do wish I had enough Galleons for an upgrade though. Unfortunate with what happened to Potter’s broomstick. Now, that was a good one broomstick.”
“What exactly happened to it? I saw it fly away due to the wind but…”
“Crushed by the Whomping Willow, of course. Poor chap. McGonagall gave him that Nimbus 2001 as soon as he was made Seeker for the team. Funny how she managed to find someone like Potter with such natural skill…”
Cedric nods his head again, this time with an unpleasant feeling settling within the pit of his stomach. He still feels bad about what happened to Harry. But it wasn’t like he could have stopped the Dementors; they affected him too. Well, maybe he didn’t fall off his broomstick, but it had still been pretty bad. Even after he had caught the Snitch, Cedric couldn’t get rid the memories he had seen right before his eyes. The angry glares of judgment. The small fragments of the never-ending rants for Cedric to do better. The sight of slamming doors and tears running down a beautiful face. But most of all, he had despised the silence ringing in his ears after all the memories had passed.
He hates thinking about the silence after every argument he has ever had with his dad or Cho. That is the last thing Cedric needs right now from either of them. It has always been about expectations. Cedric hates it, but what will they think of him if he doesn’t keep up? If he lets them down….hell, even a simple loss of a Quidditch game would place a big burden upon him. Perhaps that is the only reason Cedric was able to beat Harry that gloomy day.
His anxiety must be transparent because Oliver stops talking and waves his hand in front of Cedric’s face. “Diggory? Hey, it’s okay, y’know. About the game.”
“What?” asks Cedric with bewilderment, snapping out of his reverie to stare at Oliver. “I was just-”
“I can tell you still feel bad about everything,” continues Oliver sympathetically. “Everyone thought I was about to bite their heads off if they came two feet near me after that game. Could have been in the showers, drowning myself, they said. Might as well have done that.”
“Look, Oliver. I’m-”
“It was just a game, Diggory. You won fair and square. I respect that.”
“How is that fair when Dementors were trying to intercept everything?”
“Under the circumstances, you didn’t cheat. You grabbed the Snitch and that was it.”
“And?”
“And what? It’s done. Over.”
Cedric bites his lip, contemplating his words carefully. “Are you trying to be nice about this, or what?” He cringes at the harshness of his voice, but continues anyway. “I know you well enough that you take your games seriously. It’s all about winning, isn’t it?”
“What’s your point?” questions Oliver a bit defensively. “I actually meant what I said. I trust the word of my teammates enough to justify a situation. They said you were pretty sharp out there. And hey, not too bad with flying technique either, at least from what I could see in the rain.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re very swift, alert and assertive. No wonder they say you’re tough competition.”
Cedric feels his face warming up, despite how chilly it is outside. He really shouldn’t be taking Oliver’s comments the wrong way. He is not a little school boy anymore and there was no need to get embarrassed by a compliment that seems almost suggestive. He must be imagining it. Act mature, Cedric. You’re a Quidditch captain, for Merlin’s sake. Be a man.
“Thanks,” he finally says with a small grin.
“So are we good?” Oliver inquires, this time with total seriousness. It looks like he is slightly anxious himself, though he seems to hide it a little bit better than Cedric.
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you around then, eh?”
“Sure.”
Oliver nods as he passes by Cedric, bumping into his shoulder ever so slightly. Cedric shivers as he tugs his robes tighter around himself. He is pretty sure it has nothing to do with the wind, but he lets himself think it does. He is still standing at the doorway of the locker room, observing Oliver retrieve his bag out of his locker before propping his Nimbus 1700 carefully against the wall nearby. He rummages through the bag for his school attire, pulling out trousers, a shirt, robes and a maroon tie before placing them all in a neat pile onto a bench. Oliver would be that organised. He may play dirty on the pitch, but he is definitely a person who relies on routine and orderliness.
When Oliver begins to pull his sweaty t-shirt off, Cedric finds that he cannot look away. He is transfixed as Oliver grabs for a white bath towel and begins to pull down his…
“You’re pretty good yourself, y’know,” Cedric finds himself blurting out suddenly. He wants to shut his mouth and leave quickly but it’s too late. He can feel himself flushing even more when he sees Oliver staring at him with an unreadable expression.
“Is that so?” inquires Oliver curiously, wrapping the towel around his waist before shedding off dirty trousers and navy blue boxers. “So you watch me then?”
“Just to know that you’re determined enough to get what you want,” replies Cedric before he realises what he is implying. “I mean, you’re a devoted player to the game of Quidditch,” he explains hurriedly. “You play your part.”
“That’s the idea. I’m sure you can say the same. That’s what makes us so good.”
Oliver gives Cedric a knowing grin as he grabs a bar of soap from his bag. He raises his hand to run his fingers through his damp hair, ruffling it until it looks disheveled. Cedric’s eyes follow Oliver’s movements; those fingers combing through short, chocolate brown locks, and the way Oliver adjusts the towel just so that it is barely hanging above his hips. Cedric swallows hard as he looks away.
“I’ve got to go back to the castle to finish my Charms essay,” says Cedric lamely as he backs away from the locker room. “Y’know, sixteen inches and all. Flitwick will want this one to be perfect.”
“Good luck with that,” responds Oliver as he moves toward the showers. “We should practice together one day.”
Cedric raises his eyebrows. “Practice?”
“Quidditch? If you want to, that is.”
It takes a moment for Cedric to absorb this. This kind of offer rarely comes up. Not that Cedric really practices with anyone besides Cho. But for Oliver Wood to make a request for a practice partner is unheard of. Oliver is the type of player that trains himself hard, to the point of exhaustion. And yet, there is a reason why Cedric prefers going out onto the pitch alone because he trains himself the same exact way. Practice makes perfect, Cedric’s dad had told him when he was young. Apparently, Oliver values the same words of wisdom.
Oliver is looking at Cedric with a blank face, awaiting his answer. Cedric simply shrugs his shoulders before turning around to make his way across the pitch. And then hears a small sigh of disappointment, noticing the way Oliver’s shoulders sag down a bit from the corner of his eye. It isn’t until when he hears the faint echoes of feet padding softly against the tiles when Cedric makes up his mind.
“Thursday, eight o’clock, on the pitch,” states Cedric loud and clear as soon as he stops walking. He listens for moment, still hearing the fading footsteps until they come to a halt as silence lingers within the air.
“In the dark?” Oliver voice calls out with slight interest.
“Makes it a better challenge,” Cedric calls back to him. “What d’you reckon?”
“I’ll be there,” answers Oliver after a moment, accompanied with a hearty laugh. “Can’t really turn down a challenge now can I?”
“No, you can’t,” Cedric mutters to himself as he begins to walk across the pitch again. The sound of water splattering against tile makes him smile. “Neither can I.”
Author: sugareey
Rating: PG
Characters: Cedric/Oliver
Prompt: disheveled
Word Count: 1,795
Summary: Cedric likes to watch Oliver until he gets caught in the act one day.
Warnings: Consistent with PoA.
Disclaimer: Kudos go to the amazing J.K Rowling for creating the awesome game of Quidditch and the players that go along with it.
A/N: For 7spells. Unbetaed, I know. The full table is located here.
They are both quite similar, he realises one day as he looks up into the sky. From the doorway of the locker rooms, he can’t help but admire the way Oliver flies. Of course, Cedric is a fair flyer himself, but Oliver is still stronger, faster, and more aggressive when he is up in the air. There are times when Oliver takes hours doing laps, flying around and around and around until it makes Cedric dizzy. Oliver will circle the pitch once more before looping around the goal posts. Cedric notices he only uses the Quaffle during team practices. Alicia, Katie or Angelina will be the ones to throw it furiously through the goal posts, except there is never a follow-through. Oliver is always the one to catch the round, red ball with his hands, clutching it tightly toward his chest. There will be a moment where the curve of Oliver’s lips will turn up slightly before he tosses the ball to one of the girls and rounds up the rest of his teammates to begin the routine again.
Cedric knows this much, because he finds himself constantly watching Oliver during Gryffindor practices when time allows him to. Sometimes, he secretly follows Oliver on the days he goes out alone. He can tell Oliver has worked hard to come this far, to play the fair game of Quidditch. So has Cedric. As a team captain himself, he has gone through the same drills of replaying mini-matches while he is on his search for the Snitch. Cedric has speed and endurance when it comes to catching the tiny golden ball, but perhaps that’s the difference between the two of them. He is a Seeker. Oliver is a Keeper. And yet, they still love Quidditch just the same.
When he hears a cough, Cedric immediately snaps out of his daze to find Oliver standing right in front of him. Oliver wipes his forehead with a sleeve before grinning. Cedric smiles back shyly before looking down at the ground.
“Like what you see?”
Cedric’s eyes widen as dart back up at Oliver. “Sorry?”
“I asked if you like what you see, with this beauty right here,” Oliver elaborates, gesturing to his broomstick. “It still holds pretty well, but not as great as a Firebolt, of course.”
“Not too bad,” agrees Cedric, nodding his head with approval. “Lots of professional Quidditch players preferred the Nimbus 1700 when it first came out, y’know. One of the best broomsticks in history.”
“No doubt about it! The Nimbus line was a success from its start, comparing to Cleansweeps and Comets. I do wish I had enough Galleons for an upgrade though. Unfortunate with what happened to Potter’s broomstick. Now, that was a good one broomstick.”
“What exactly happened to it? I saw it fly away due to the wind but…”
“Crushed by the Whomping Willow, of course. Poor chap. McGonagall gave him that Nimbus 2001 as soon as he was made Seeker for the team. Funny how she managed to find someone like Potter with such natural skill…”
Cedric nods his head again, this time with an unpleasant feeling settling within the pit of his stomach. He still feels bad about what happened to Harry. But it wasn’t like he could have stopped the Dementors; they affected him too. Well, maybe he didn’t fall off his broomstick, but it had still been pretty bad. Even after he had caught the Snitch, Cedric couldn’t get rid the memories he had seen right before his eyes. The angry glares of judgment. The small fragments of the never-ending rants for Cedric to do better. The sight of slamming doors and tears running down a beautiful face. But most of all, he had despised the silence ringing in his ears after all the memories had passed.
He hates thinking about the silence after every argument he has ever had with his dad or Cho. That is the last thing Cedric needs right now from either of them. It has always been about expectations. Cedric hates it, but what will they think of him if he doesn’t keep up? If he lets them down….hell, even a simple loss of a Quidditch game would place a big burden upon him. Perhaps that is the only reason Cedric was able to beat Harry that gloomy day.
His anxiety must be transparent because Oliver stops talking and waves his hand in front of Cedric’s face. “Diggory? Hey, it’s okay, y’know. About the game.”
“What?” asks Cedric with bewilderment, snapping out of his reverie to stare at Oliver. “I was just-”
“I can tell you still feel bad about everything,” continues Oliver sympathetically. “Everyone thought I was about to bite their heads off if they came two feet near me after that game. Could have been in the showers, drowning myself, they said. Might as well have done that.”
“Look, Oliver. I’m-”
“It was just a game, Diggory. You won fair and square. I respect that.”
“How is that fair when Dementors were trying to intercept everything?”
“Under the circumstances, you didn’t cheat. You grabbed the Snitch and that was it.”
“And?”
“And what? It’s done. Over.”
Cedric bites his lip, contemplating his words carefully. “Are you trying to be nice about this, or what?” He cringes at the harshness of his voice, but continues anyway. “I know you well enough that you take your games seriously. It’s all about winning, isn’t it?”
“What’s your point?” questions Oliver a bit defensively. “I actually meant what I said. I trust the word of my teammates enough to justify a situation. They said you were pretty sharp out there. And hey, not too bad with flying technique either, at least from what I could see in the rain.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re very swift, alert and assertive. No wonder they say you’re tough competition.”
Cedric feels his face warming up, despite how chilly it is outside. He really shouldn’t be taking Oliver’s comments the wrong way. He is not a little school boy anymore and there was no need to get embarrassed by a compliment that seems almost suggestive. He must be imagining it. Act mature, Cedric. You’re a Quidditch captain, for Merlin’s sake. Be a man.
“Thanks,” he finally says with a small grin.
“So are we good?” Oliver inquires, this time with total seriousness. It looks like he is slightly anxious himself, though he seems to hide it a little bit better than Cedric.
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you around then, eh?”
“Sure.”
Oliver nods as he passes by Cedric, bumping into his shoulder ever so slightly. Cedric shivers as he tugs his robes tighter around himself. He is pretty sure it has nothing to do with the wind, but he lets himself think it does. He is still standing at the doorway of the locker room, observing Oliver retrieve his bag out of his locker before propping his Nimbus 1700 carefully against the wall nearby. He rummages through the bag for his school attire, pulling out trousers, a shirt, robes and a maroon tie before placing them all in a neat pile onto a bench. Oliver would be that organised. He may play dirty on the pitch, but he is definitely a person who relies on routine and orderliness.
When Oliver begins to pull his sweaty t-shirt off, Cedric finds that he cannot look away. He is transfixed as Oliver grabs for a white bath towel and begins to pull down his…
“You’re pretty good yourself, y’know,” Cedric finds himself blurting out suddenly. He wants to shut his mouth and leave quickly but it’s too late. He can feel himself flushing even more when he sees Oliver staring at him with an unreadable expression.
“Is that so?” inquires Oliver curiously, wrapping the towel around his waist before shedding off dirty trousers and navy blue boxers. “So you watch me then?”
“Just to know that you’re determined enough to get what you want,” replies Cedric before he realises what he is implying. “I mean, you’re a devoted player to the game of Quidditch,” he explains hurriedly. “You play your part.”
“That’s the idea. I’m sure you can say the same. That’s what makes us so good.”
Oliver gives Cedric a knowing grin as he grabs a bar of soap from his bag. He raises his hand to run his fingers through his damp hair, ruffling it until it looks disheveled. Cedric’s eyes follow Oliver’s movements; those fingers combing through short, chocolate brown locks, and the way Oliver adjusts the towel just so that it is barely hanging above his hips. Cedric swallows hard as he looks away.
“I’ve got to go back to the castle to finish my Charms essay,” says Cedric lamely as he backs away from the locker room. “Y’know, sixteen inches and all. Flitwick will want this one to be perfect.”
“Good luck with that,” responds Oliver as he moves toward the showers. “We should practice together one day.”
Cedric raises his eyebrows. “Practice?”
“Quidditch? If you want to, that is.”
It takes a moment for Cedric to absorb this. This kind of offer rarely comes up. Not that Cedric really practices with anyone besides Cho. But for Oliver Wood to make a request for a practice partner is unheard of. Oliver is the type of player that trains himself hard, to the point of exhaustion. And yet, there is a reason why Cedric prefers going out onto the pitch alone because he trains himself the same exact way. Practice makes perfect, Cedric’s dad had told him when he was young. Apparently, Oliver values the same words of wisdom.
Oliver is looking at Cedric with a blank face, awaiting his answer. Cedric simply shrugs his shoulders before turning around to make his way across the pitch. And then hears a small sigh of disappointment, noticing the way Oliver’s shoulders sag down a bit from the corner of his eye. It isn’t until when he hears the faint echoes of feet padding softly against the tiles when Cedric makes up his mind.
“Thursday, eight o’clock, on the pitch,” states Cedric loud and clear as soon as he stops walking. He listens for moment, still hearing the fading footsteps until they come to a halt as silence lingers within the air.
“In the dark?” Oliver voice calls out with slight interest.
“Makes it a better challenge,” Cedric calls back to him. “What d’you reckon?”
“I’ll be there,” answers Oliver after a moment, accompanied with a hearty laugh. “Can’t really turn down a challenge now can I?”
“No, you can’t,” Cedric mutters to himself as he begins to walk across the pitch again. The sound of water splattering against tile makes him smile. “Neither can I.”