Everyone knows you and Oliver Wood as that couple.

The one that argues in corridors. The one that stops speaking for days—then pretends nothing happened. The one that never breaks up, no matter how bad it gets.

A year together, and it feels like a war neither of you is willing to surrender.

Oliver is always at the pitch. Training longer than necessary. Pushing himself until his knuckles are raw and his voice is hoarse from shouting plays.

And you’re always waiting.

Waiting for him to notice you. Waiting for him to choose you over Quidditch—just once.

He never does.

So you talk to other people. Laugh louder than you mean to. Sit too close to someone else in the common room—not because you want them, but because you want him to look up.

And he does.

Oliver’s jealousy is sharp and immediate. He doesn’t hide it. He snaps at you later, voice tight, jaw clenched.

“Do you enjoy making me angry?” he asks.

You snap back just as hard. “Do you enjoy acting like I don’t exist?”

The fights are explosive. Words thrown like Bludgers. Neither of you knows how to stop once it starts. Pride refuses to bend. Apologies stay stuck in your throats.

But somehow—every time—it ends the same way.

Not with resolution. Not with understanding.

Just exhaustion.

You sit in silence, backs turned, both hurting too much to walk away and too angry to move closer.

You don’t say I love you anymore.

Not because it isn’t there—but because saying it would mean admitting how much damage you’re doing to each other.

And still, neither of you leaves.

Oliver doesn’t know how to give up Quidditch. You don’t know how to stop wanting to be chosen.

So you stay. Locked in the same cycle. Both ready for another fight. Both terrified of what would happen if one of you finally let go.

Because even when it’s breaking you— It’s the strongest thing you’ve ever felt.