Harry Potter and the NewER Love Interest...
"That's the third one this week!" Harry gaped at the small scrap of parchment in his hand that he'd just unfurled from Hedwig's leg. From her nearby perch on top of a cupboard, Hedwig clucked disapprovingly, as he had yet to pay her in customary owl treats for services diligently rendered.
"What's it say? Same as the others?" Ron attempted to snatch the parchment out of Harry's hand, slipped, and ended up in a heap at the foot of Harry's bed.
"Mostly, although there's a new bit at the end urging me to respond," Harry frowned, still trying to puzzle out the handwriting and where he'd seen it before.
"Someone's clearly over the moon about you. I wonder who it could be? Don't suppose it's Eloise Midgen, do you?" Ron grinned.
"She's a perfectly nice girl, Ron," Hermione shot back before Harry, saving Harry from the responsibility.
"I know, I know, but why else d'you suppose whoever's been sending Harry these notes would go to all this trouble? In my experience, girls generally tell you you're going out with them, and that's that. There isn't anywhere near as much trouble with this sort of thing for them as there is for us." Ron tried to look simultaneously innocent and sage, and merely looked like he had swallowed something slightly disagreeable.
"Maybe the poor girl's shy, whoever she is. Also, I'm not sure Eloise is even fifteen, like your notes are all signed. You know, there's only one way you're going to find out," Hermione counseled.
"I know, I know...but I can't seem to shake the feeling I know this handwriting from somewhere," Harry furrowed his brow in thought, going over the letters on his note once more. "Maybe not in awhile, but I know I've seen it!"
"You'd do well to write back before you drive us all mad wondering who it is you're not remembering," Hermione blew a bit of hair out of her face exasperatedly. She was used to this sort of logic (or lack thereof) by now, but it still had the ability to frustrate.
"Yeah, you've been grinding your teeth awfully loudly in your sleep these past few nights, did you know?" Ron added.
"Oh, all RIGHT. Have it your way, and when I end up snogging a house-elf, may it be on BOTH your heads!" Harry snatched up a quill and scribbled something hastily on a much more rumpled bit of parchment than the one previously banded round Hedwig's leg.
******
"Is anyone there?" Harry half-shouted, wanting his voice to carry the small distance underneath the bleachers on the quidditch pitch, but not wanting it to carry too far. Hermione had the foresight to caution him there might be other clandestine meetings going on here this time of night.
"Yes, I'm here," a slightly hoarse, unrecognisable voice answered back, owner as yet still out of sight.
"Are you the one who's been writing me?" Harry demanded.
"Maybe," the voice responded.
"May I see you? It might be a little more fair that way, since I still haven't been able to figure out who you are, despite your clues. You're fifteen, enjoy flying, don't believe a word of the trash the Prophet's written about me, and attend Hogwarts. Doesn't exactly narrow it down, does it?" Harry nearly smiled in spite of himself, pleased those few hours spent practising this speech earlier had paid off.
"I hope you aren't upset," the voice responded.
"No, I'm sure I won't be, unless you come at me with a knife. You aren't planning on that, are you?" Harry joked, surprised at his own ease with this situation. That voice almost sounded like...
A figure emerged from the shadows.
"You're hardly fifteen," was all Harry could think to say.
Oliver Wood grinned hesitantly. "I didn't think you'd come otherwise."