Hope, I Understand (Oliver/Hermione)
Title: Hope, I Understand
Author: Kasey/HogwartsDuchess
Pairing: Oliver/Hermione
Prompt: There's nothing wrong with being hesitant.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluff
Word Count: 2382
Summary: An overheard conversation leads to late night confessions.
Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Hope Like Smoke
“Patience is a virtue.”
Oliver Wood bit back a chuckle. How very right that his most straight-laced aunt's favorite phrase should come out of the mouth of the prissiest swot to attend Hogwarts since the old lady herself. Of course, that same aunt was the one who laughed the hardest when he sassed her, something he doubted he'd be able to get away with in regards to this female.
“Oh, honestly, Ronald. If you'd just let me read this in peace we could have been finished ten minutes ago!”
It was a bit harder this time to keep from laughing. If the library wasn't so decidedly quiet, he might have been able to let loose the snort that seemed determined to escape him, but as he was only one shelf away from the studious couple, he knew he couldn't.
In the year since he'd last seen them, sneaking quietly out of the Great Hall after Voldemort's death, he'd managed to convince himself that the part of him that was fascinated by the bushy-haired girl was gone. Idle fantasy, he'd learned two months ago - as were so many of his thoughts pertaining to her. At the moment, he was ostensibly in the library to return Quidditch Through the Ages, but in reality it was the promise of her presence that drew him, as usual, to her favoured corner, where (if he were very lucky) she might even look up from her books with a smile and a word of greeting as he walked past. He really was making a cake of himself, he thought disgustedly.
Her voice had dropped an octave, and he found himself leaning to catch her words as she rang a whispered peal over Weasley's head. “...not like you come here to study anyway...never did take anything seriously...”
Oliver grinned. He heard Weasley slam his books down and throw them hastily in his bag. Oliver chanced a look around the corner at her usual table, where she was looking up at her boyfriend with exasperation and just a hint of amusement, as if she found his behaviour absurdly funny - and, he supposed she must, for this was at least the fifth time Weasley had done something of the like in the past two months. His red hair was visible as he walked towards the door, and his parting shot was something so completely ridiculous that Oliver couldn't help but give voice to his laughter at last.
She turned immediately towards him, a small smile tilting the corners of her mouth ever so slightly upwards, revealing an altogether bewitching dimple. She gestured for Oliver to take a seat, and he gratefully complied, flopping casually into the chair across from her.
“Teaspoon?” he asked, still fighting back chuckles. At the incredulous tone in his voice, she tilted her head back and joined him, her laughter deep and throaty. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why did he have to find her so enticing, he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time. It wasn't that she was pretty - oh, she wasn't ugly, either, just very plain. The only remarkable thing about her was really her hair, sticking out in every direction in a bushy mess.
"It's a long story, Wood," Hermione replied when she had finished laughing at his expression. He was wiping the tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes when she she looked up. "What brings you here tonight?"
"Returning this," he lied, holding out the thick book for her perusal.
"Quidditch Through the Ages?" she queried. "Wood, that is at least the fourth time you've read that since we all returned here two months ago!"
"Keeping tabs on my reading material, are you?" He cocked an eyebrow up, fascinated by the faint blush that stained her cheeks at the question.
"Of course not," she said sternly. "I just remember at least three other occasions where you've come to sit down and had that book in hand."
"You wound me, lass," he mocked. "Here I thought you'd been keeping your eyes on my charming smile and broad shoulders instead of the books I bring with me." He propped his head in his hand and looked at her, lazily taking in the clearness of her skin with its light brown tones.
"Oh, you!" she sighed exasperatedly. "Between you and Seamus there is enough blarney to populate all of Ireland!"
Ireland? "Lass, you do know I'm not from Ireland, right?" His breath caught. Was she really comparing him to that wimpy child?
"Of course I know you're not, Wood! Heavens, I should hope you have more respect for my intelligence than that!" She sounded slightly miffed.
"Aye, lass, I've nothing but respect for that intelligence of yours. So, tell me - what has the git done this time?" He picked his head up and looked at her in what he hoped was a compassionate and friendly manner, pushing down the thoughts of tearing Weasley limb from limb when a small tear caught in her eyelashes.
"Oh, the usual. He seems to think that since school isn't yet in session that studying isn't necessary - he keeps trying to get me to sneak off with him," she sighed unhappily, ducking her head with obvious embarrassment.
Oliver fought the image of the two of them entwined in Weasley's bedsheets; Weasley's hands touching the enticing curve of her hip, Hermione's fevered response - he cut the thought off cold.
"Ah, lass, you'll have to forgive him. At his age, he's a slave to his baser instincts. Someday he'll be growing up and appreciate that there is more than bedsport with a bonny lass like yourself." He forced the words to sound comforting when all he wanted to do was find Weasley and curse him to smithereens.
To his dismay, his girl broke into quiet sobs. "Oh, if it were only that, Oliver." He started at her unprecedented use of his given name and filed the memory of her voice caressing it for later perusal, focusing instead on the words that had come before it.
"What do you mean, Hermione," he asked her seriously.
"He doesn't think of me that way. He doesn't want to sneak off to the nearest empty classroom, he wants to sneak down to the kitchens for more food!" she grumbled, putting her head in her hands. Her posture was that of such despair that he couldn't even bring himself to smile at this admission of trouble in the paradise of her world.
"Shh, lass. Shh." He got up and came around the table to sit beside her, putting an arm around the back of her chair. He felt her stiffen up and wondered if he'd done something wrong, but she turned and buried her face in his chest. He was suddenly struck by the realisation that the library probably was not the best place for her to have a breakdown like this. He placed a finger under her chin and felt his insides quiver with the sight of the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"C'mon, lass, let's gather your books. You don't want to be doing this here, I'd wager. We'll go someplace quiet and you can tell Uncle Ollie all about it." Saying this, he gathered up her books and put them in her bag, slinging it over his shoulder. When he had finished, he reached out a hand to her and noticed the surprise in her eyes.
"Why are you being so nice about this?" she asked slowly.
"Have you got anyone else? Your only female friend is his own sister, and I'm not thinking she'd take too kindly to you saying this to her, and Potter doesn't really seem the type to understand what would be wrong with wanting to sneak out for food instead of a little old-fashioned snogging," he explained, hoping that she would buy his reasoning, that she wouldn't see that he was so desperate for her notice that he'd put himself in the position of relationship counselor, helping to solve her problems with a boy he was strongly suspecting he might have to kill someday.
"You're right, of course - it just - I don't want your pity, Wood," she said shortly.
And now we're back to 'Wood' again, he sighed to himself. Aloud he said only, "It isn't pity, lass. Now come." He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, tucking her under his arm as he guided her out of the library. The dorms seemed a bad idea - Weasley might be in there - and he was fairly certain that if he took her to his own room he wouldn't be able to hide his intentions, so he led her to a quiet classroom instead.
He set her bag on the floor and guided her to a chair, wondering if he ought to conjure her something a bit more comfortable.
"I don't even know where to begin anymore," she sighed heavily, the threat of tears still in her voice.
He sat down in a chair next to her and covered the hand on the table with his own. "Why not tell me how the two of you ended up together."
She laughed a little at that and turned her brown eyes towards the window. "It was coming on for a long time, though he was too thick to realise it, of course. And even though I knew it was, I kept holding myself back, waiting for something. I guess, in retrospect, I was waiting for a sign that he had grown up enough to understand what I wanted from him." Another heavy sigh followed her words and she turned back towards him.
"I guess, when he finally started acting like he was mature enough, I just rushed headlong into things, not really realising that his only experience with girls was Lavender Brown. If I wanted to do something that resembled a normal date and didn't include hanging out with Harry and Ginny, he would freak out on me, afraid I'd start acting like Lavender, I guess. I can't remember the last time we kissed except for perfunctory good-nights in the common room."
Oliver's eyes were round. How could Weasley have this treasure and not worship the very ground she walked upon? "You mean to tell me that the lad hasn't even the balls to properly kiss you?" At her nod, he lost a little of the control he'd been struggling with since he'd first heard the couple in the library. "Bluidy git! You haven't done anything else with him, have you?" he demanded.
"Of course not!" Hermione snapped, sounding more like herself. "I'm not sure it would matter even if I tried - he'd likely only grumble about wanting to play Quidditch or grab a snack."
"You've not even tried," he asked incredulously.
"There's nothing wrong with being hesitant!" she insisted. Oliver laughed. Another of Aunt Henny's favorite phrases.
"Nay, lass, nothing wrong with hesitating to do something that will probably be a useless endeavour on your part anyway, but a great deal wrong with it when it is stopping you from doing what you need to," he offered.
"What do you mean?" she demanded sharply, obviously not liking his tone.
"How old is he now? Nineteen?" At her nod, he continued. "And he's had you in his arms for a year and never told you how lovely you are?" He looked down at her. She might not be the world's idea of beauty, of course - even he was not yet in so deep that he couldn't see that - but she was certainly his ideal.
"But I'm not," she whispered. "Maybe if I were he would want me, but I'm not."
"You're a beautiful lass, but we'll get to that in a moment. Hermione, you can't keep wasting your life on someone who doesn't deserve you!"
"I know that, Oliver! You think I don't? But what am I supposed to do? My family doesn't want me and Harry lives with the Weasleys - hell, so do I! Where am I supposed to go?" she shouted.
"Hell, lass, if that is all that is holding you back, you can stay at my flat during school breaks - I'm hardly there anyway," he offered immediately. Part of his brain was screaming, 'YES, get her to the flat and keep her there!'.
She blinked at his vehemence. "You'd do that? Let me stay with you until I finished school and got a job?"
"Merlin, yes. You haven't got anyone else. We're friends, after a fashion, and I'm sure we'd rub on fine together when I was home, and you'd have the place to yourself when I wasn't," he said. "Is that really why you stay with him? You haven't got anyone else?"
"No. I do love him, but he's just - he'll never grow up, not really, and I guess I've always known that. I've just been staying on out of hope." Her voice was dejected.
"Aye, lass, hope, I understand," he whispered, drawing her back to his chest and patting her back comfortingly. She lay there against his chest, limp and drained of emtions.
"I'll think about it," she murmured, gently pushing herself away and standing up. As she shouldered her bag. He knew she meant more than just his offer of a place to stay until she got her feet underneath her.
Looking him in the eye, a faint blush stained her cheeks, and seeing it made his heart swell. "You do that," he said, dropping a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. When she had gone, he sat alone in the dark classroom, thinking of their conversation and his next moves. While he would never try to take her from Weasley if she were happy, it was painfully clear that she wasn't, and when it all fell apart, as it was bound to, he wanted to make sure he was the one she turned to, the friend she could count on.
He would be friends first and forever, if that was what she needed - after all, as she and Aunt Henny were both fond of saying, there is nothing wrong with being hesitant, and his patience would pay off. He knew it would.
Author: Kasey/HogwartsDuchess
Pairing: Oliver/Hermione
Prompt: There's nothing wrong with being hesitant.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluff
Word Count: 2382
Summary: An overheard conversation leads to late night confessions.
Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Hope Like Smoke
“Patience is a virtue.”
Oliver Wood bit back a chuckle. How very right that his most straight-laced aunt's favorite phrase should come out of the mouth of the prissiest swot to attend Hogwarts since the old lady herself. Of course, that same aunt was the one who laughed the hardest when he sassed her, something he doubted he'd be able to get away with in regards to this female.
“Oh, honestly, Ronald. If you'd just let me read this in peace we could have been finished ten minutes ago!”
It was a bit harder this time to keep from laughing. If the library wasn't so decidedly quiet, he might have been able to let loose the snort that seemed determined to escape him, but as he was only one shelf away from the studious couple, he knew he couldn't.
In the year since he'd last seen them, sneaking quietly out of the Great Hall after Voldemort's death, he'd managed to convince himself that the part of him that was fascinated by the bushy-haired girl was gone. Idle fantasy, he'd learned two months ago - as were so many of his thoughts pertaining to her. At the moment, he was ostensibly in the library to return Quidditch Through the Ages, but in reality it was the promise of her presence that drew him, as usual, to her favoured corner, where (if he were very lucky) she might even look up from her books with a smile and a word of greeting as he walked past. He really was making a cake of himself, he thought disgustedly.
Her voice had dropped an octave, and he found himself leaning to catch her words as she rang a whispered peal over Weasley's head. “...not like you come here to study anyway...never did take anything seriously...”
Oliver grinned. He heard Weasley slam his books down and throw them hastily in his bag. Oliver chanced a look around the corner at her usual table, where she was looking up at her boyfriend with exasperation and just a hint of amusement, as if she found his behaviour absurdly funny - and, he supposed she must, for this was at least the fifth time Weasley had done something of the like in the past two months. His red hair was visible as he walked towards the door, and his parting shot was something so completely ridiculous that Oliver couldn't help but give voice to his laughter at last.
She turned immediately towards him, a small smile tilting the corners of her mouth ever so slightly upwards, revealing an altogether bewitching dimple. She gestured for Oliver to take a seat, and he gratefully complied, flopping casually into the chair across from her.
“Teaspoon?” he asked, still fighting back chuckles. At the incredulous tone in his voice, she tilted her head back and joined him, her laughter deep and throaty. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why did he have to find her so enticing, he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time. It wasn't that she was pretty - oh, she wasn't ugly, either, just very plain. The only remarkable thing about her was really her hair, sticking out in every direction in a bushy mess.
"It's a long story, Wood," Hermione replied when she had finished laughing at his expression. He was wiping the tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes when she she looked up. "What brings you here tonight?"
"Returning this," he lied, holding out the thick book for her perusal.
"Quidditch Through the Ages?" she queried. "Wood, that is at least the fourth time you've read that since we all returned here two months ago!"
"Keeping tabs on my reading material, are you?" He cocked an eyebrow up, fascinated by the faint blush that stained her cheeks at the question.
"Of course not," she said sternly. "I just remember at least three other occasions where you've come to sit down and had that book in hand."
"You wound me, lass," he mocked. "Here I thought you'd been keeping your eyes on my charming smile and broad shoulders instead of the books I bring with me." He propped his head in his hand and looked at her, lazily taking in the clearness of her skin with its light brown tones.
"Oh, you!" she sighed exasperatedly. "Between you and Seamus there is enough blarney to populate all of Ireland!"
Ireland? "Lass, you do know I'm not from Ireland, right?" His breath caught. Was she really comparing him to that wimpy child?
"Of course I know you're not, Wood! Heavens, I should hope you have more respect for my intelligence than that!" She sounded slightly miffed.
"Aye, lass, I've nothing but respect for that intelligence of yours. So, tell me - what has the git done this time?" He picked his head up and looked at her in what he hoped was a compassionate and friendly manner, pushing down the thoughts of tearing Weasley limb from limb when a small tear caught in her eyelashes.
"Oh, the usual. He seems to think that since school isn't yet in session that studying isn't necessary - he keeps trying to get me to sneak off with him," she sighed unhappily, ducking her head with obvious embarrassment.
Oliver fought the image of the two of them entwined in Weasley's bedsheets; Weasley's hands touching the enticing curve of her hip, Hermione's fevered response - he cut the thought off cold.
"Ah, lass, you'll have to forgive him. At his age, he's a slave to his baser instincts. Someday he'll be growing up and appreciate that there is more than bedsport with a bonny lass like yourself." He forced the words to sound comforting when all he wanted to do was find Weasley and curse him to smithereens.
To his dismay, his girl broke into quiet sobs. "Oh, if it were only that, Oliver." He started at her unprecedented use of his given name and filed the memory of her voice caressing it for later perusal, focusing instead on the words that had come before it.
"What do you mean, Hermione," he asked her seriously.
"He doesn't think of me that way. He doesn't want to sneak off to the nearest empty classroom, he wants to sneak down to the kitchens for more food!" she grumbled, putting her head in her hands. Her posture was that of such despair that he couldn't even bring himself to smile at this admission of trouble in the paradise of her world.
"Shh, lass. Shh." He got up and came around the table to sit beside her, putting an arm around the back of her chair. He felt her stiffen up and wondered if he'd done something wrong, but she turned and buried her face in his chest. He was suddenly struck by the realisation that the library probably was not the best place for her to have a breakdown like this. He placed a finger under her chin and felt his insides quiver with the sight of the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"C'mon, lass, let's gather your books. You don't want to be doing this here, I'd wager. We'll go someplace quiet and you can tell Uncle Ollie all about it." Saying this, he gathered up her books and put them in her bag, slinging it over his shoulder. When he had finished, he reached out a hand to her and noticed the surprise in her eyes.
"Why are you being so nice about this?" she asked slowly.
"Have you got anyone else? Your only female friend is his own sister, and I'm not thinking she'd take too kindly to you saying this to her, and Potter doesn't really seem the type to understand what would be wrong with wanting to sneak out for food instead of a little old-fashioned snogging," he explained, hoping that she would buy his reasoning, that she wouldn't see that he was so desperate for her notice that he'd put himself in the position of relationship counselor, helping to solve her problems with a boy he was strongly suspecting he might have to kill someday.
"You're right, of course - it just - I don't want your pity, Wood," she said shortly.
And now we're back to 'Wood' again, he sighed to himself. Aloud he said only, "It isn't pity, lass. Now come." He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, tucking her under his arm as he guided her out of the library. The dorms seemed a bad idea - Weasley might be in there - and he was fairly certain that if he took her to his own room he wouldn't be able to hide his intentions, so he led her to a quiet classroom instead.
He set her bag on the floor and guided her to a chair, wondering if he ought to conjure her something a bit more comfortable.
"I don't even know where to begin anymore," she sighed heavily, the threat of tears still in her voice.
He sat down in a chair next to her and covered the hand on the table with his own. "Why not tell me how the two of you ended up together."
She laughed a little at that and turned her brown eyes towards the window. "It was coming on for a long time, though he was too thick to realise it, of course. And even though I knew it was, I kept holding myself back, waiting for something. I guess, in retrospect, I was waiting for a sign that he had grown up enough to understand what I wanted from him." Another heavy sigh followed her words and she turned back towards him.
"I guess, when he finally started acting like he was mature enough, I just rushed headlong into things, not really realising that his only experience with girls was Lavender Brown. If I wanted to do something that resembled a normal date and didn't include hanging out with Harry and Ginny, he would freak out on me, afraid I'd start acting like Lavender, I guess. I can't remember the last time we kissed except for perfunctory good-nights in the common room."
Oliver's eyes were round. How could Weasley have this treasure and not worship the very ground she walked upon? "You mean to tell me that the lad hasn't even the balls to properly kiss you?" At her nod, he lost a little of the control he'd been struggling with since he'd first heard the couple in the library. "Bluidy git! You haven't done anything else with him, have you?" he demanded.
"Of course not!" Hermione snapped, sounding more like herself. "I'm not sure it would matter even if I tried - he'd likely only grumble about wanting to play Quidditch or grab a snack."
"You've not even tried," he asked incredulously.
"There's nothing wrong with being hesitant!" she insisted. Oliver laughed. Another of Aunt Henny's favorite phrases.
"Nay, lass, nothing wrong with hesitating to do something that will probably be a useless endeavour on your part anyway, but a great deal wrong with it when it is stopping you from doing what you need to," he offered.
"What do you mean?" she demanded sharply, obviously not liking his tone.
"How old is he now? Nineteen?" At her nod, he continued. "And he's had you in his arms for a year and never told you how lovely you are?" He looked down at her. She might not be the world's idea of beauty, of course - even he was not yet in so deep that he couldn't see that - but she was certainly his ideal.
"But I'm not," she whispered. "Maybe if I were he would want me, but I'm not."
"You're a beautiful lass, but we'll get to that in a moment. Hermione, you can't keep wasting your life on someone who doesn't deserve you!"
"I know that, Oliver! You think I don't? But what am I supposed to do? My family doesn't want me and Harry lives with the Weasleys - hell, so do I! Where am I supposed to go?" she shouted.
"Hell, lass, if that is all that is holding you back, you can stay at my flat during school breaks - I'm hardly there anyway," he offered immediately. Part of his brain was screaming, 'YES, get her to the flat and keep her there!'.
She blinked at his vehemence. "You'd do that? Let me stay with you until I finished school and got a job?"
"Merlin, yes. You haven't got anyone else. We're friends, after a fashion, and I'm sure we'd rub on fine together when I was home, and you'd have the place to yourself when I wasn't," he said. "Is that really why you stay with him? You haven't got anyone else?"
"No. I do love him, but he's just - he'll never grow up, not really, and I guess I've always known that. I've just been staying on out of hope." Her voice was dejected.
"Aye, lass, hope, I understand," he whispered, drawing her back to his chest and patting her back comfortingly. She lay there against his chest, limp and drained of emtions.
"I'll think about it," she murmured, gently pushing herself away and standing up. As she shouldered her bag. He knew she meant more than just his offer of a place to stay until she got her feet underneath her.
Looking him in the eye, a faint blush stained her cheeks, and seeing it made his heart swell. "You do that," he said, dropping a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. When she had gone, he sat alone in the dark classroom, thinking of their conversation and his next moves. While he would never try to take her from Weasley if she were happy, it was painfully clear that she wasn't, and when it all fell apart, as it was bound to, he wanted to make sure he was the one she turned to, the friend she could count on.
He would be friends first and forever, if that was what she needed - after all, as she and Aunt Henny were both fond of saying, there is nothing wrong with being hesitant, and his patience would pay off. He knew it would.