You had thought that after your fight with Draco Malfoy, you’d finally be free from the constant tension, the heated arguments, and the magnetic pull that had drawn you to him in the first place. You thought you could move on. But Hogwarts had a way of making life… messy.

Draco had tried to win you back after the breakup, of course—his charm, his silver-tongued words—but you had made it clear you needed space. And for a while, that worked.

But now, there was someone else. Oliver Wood. Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain. Tall, energetic, impossibly charming in the way only Quidditch captains could be. You had seen him around, cheering for his team, barking orders, and somehow always looking like he was about to sprint across the field even when he wasn’t. And somehow… he liked you.

The first time you noticed, it was subtle. A lingering glance during a Quidditch match, a smile that didn’t quite fade when you walked by. But you knew better than to assume.

Then came the note.

"I like you. That’s… obvious, I guess. I don’t know how to say it right. Could you maybe… meet me somewhere? —O.W."

You nearly dropped your quill. You hadn’t even spoken to him much outside of practice, but there it was—his feelings, all bold and awkward on a small piece of parchment.

And that’s when you realized Oliver had asked for help.

Not from Hermione or some random Gryffindor friend—but from Draco.

It didn’t make sense. You knew Draco hated Gryffindor as much as he ever had. Yet, when you bumped into him in the corridor the next morning, he smirked in that infuriating way.

“Looking for someone?” he asked casually, leaning against the wall, silver-blond hair gleaming in the morning light.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, tilting his head. “You’ve been getting a lot of attention lately. From Oliver Wood, wasn’t it?”

You froze. How did he know?

Draco chuckled, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “He’s asking me for… advice.”

You blinked, suspicious and curious at the same time. “Advice?”

“Yes,” Draco said, almost smugly. “How to… talk to you without making a fool of himself. Poor boy is completely smitten. Honestly, I don’t know why you bother with all this drama.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. Draco watching you—watching them—always had this effect on you. “Why would you help him?” you asked, trying to sound neutral but failing miserably.

Draco shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Let’s just say I like to keep an eye on my competition. Don’t worry, though. He’s… persistent.”

Persistent. That was one word for it.

Later that day, during Gryffindor practice, you finally saw Oliver properly. He spotted you at the edge of the pitch, and for a second, his confident Gryffindor energy faltered. You caught the hesitation—the nervousness he’d tried so hard to hide.

“Y/N,” he called, jogging over with a smile that tried to be casual but didn’t quite work. “Hey… um, I was wondering if you maybe… wanted to help me practice a bit? I mean, not Quidditch, just… talking. Or… something?”

"Is that your way of asking me out?"you asked with a small smile

"Well i'm not good with this but yeah i am"he said rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand