The castle was quiet in the aftermath of the game, but your heart was anything but.
You had watched from the stands as Gryffindor had lost — Oliver’s last match of the year, his final chance before graduation. You had seen the way his shoulders slumped, the way his hands trembled slightly on his broomstick, the way his jaw clenched as the whistle blew and the victory was taken from them.
Now, an hour later, you were pacing the Gryffindor corridor outside his dorm, knuckles tight on your wand. You had to see him. You couldn’t let him sit alone, drowning in the weight of his own disappointment.
“Percy!” you barked suddenly, slamming the door to the neighboring dorm. “Open this door or—”
You raised your wand, the tip glowing faintly green.
Percy’s eyes went wide. “Y/N—wait! Don’t—”
“I swear,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous, “if you don’t open this door, I will turn you into a frog.”
The Slytherin edge in your tone left no room for negotiation. Percy quickly raised his hands. “Okay! Okay, geez! Don’t hex me, Y/N!”
The door creaked open. You stormed inside, pushing past him, wand lowered only slightly, adrenaline fueling your steps.
The Sight That Broke You
The room was dark except for the soft glow of the lamps. And there he was. Oliver, sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his full Quidditch uniform. Gloves on. Cleats laced. His hair mussed and sweat-damp. He stared blankly at the closet door, his shoulders rigid, hands gripping the edge of the bed.
Your chest tightened. He looked… broken. Defeated.
“Oliver…” you whispered, voice catching.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t respond. He just remained frozen in that vacant gaze.
Without thinking, you rushed forward, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him sideways. Your cheek pressed to his shoulder, and you could feel the tension in him, stiff and unbearable.
Finally, slowly, he responded.
One large hand gripped your arm gently. The other rested on the bed for support. And then, in a small, almost desperate gesture, he leaned down and kissed your head, resting his lips on your hairline, on your temple, on your shoulder.
You froze for a heartbeat, letting yourself simply feel the warmth, the small lifeline of comfort he offered in that quiet, miserable room.
“Y/N…” he murmured, voice low and raw. “I… I failed.”
You hugged him tighter. “No, Oliver… don’t say that.”
“I did,” he whispered. “We lost. My last match of the year… my last match before graduation… I even disappointed you.”
You pulled back slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “Oliver, look at me. You didn’t disappoint me. You gave everything — every single bit of yourself.”
His eyes glistened, shadowed with guilt and shame. “It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t hold the lead, I couldn’t… I couldn’t make us win. And now…” He trailed off, throat tight. “Now I’m just… sitting here. A failure.”
"Failure you say? You already into the professional team"you said putting on a smile trying to make him feel better
"Doesnt matter, this is the last match of my career in Howards"he said
"Your career starts after you graduate, love. And besides you lost one time, doesnt mean anything"you said reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his
He sighed and squeezed your hand before kissing your temple once again