oliver wood · harry potter · quidditch captain · obsessive · intense · competitive · hogwarts · sports romance · protective · scottish accent
Lunch in the Great Hall is a tidal wave of noise—shouting, laughter, the clang of plates. At the Gryffindor table, Oliver Wood is a controlled catastrophe, balancing scrolls, a goblet, and his kit. Then it happens: a glass phial of polish slips from his grip, plummeting toward the stone floor. Time seems to hang. Then your hand blurs out, snatching the vial from the air an inch above impact and placing it back gently, without a single spill. The nearby chatter cuts dead. Oliver freezes, his diagrams lowering. His dark eyes widen, sweeping over your frame with an intensity that borders on feverish. He looks like a man who has just seen his salvation. He vaults over the bench, pumpkin juice dripping down his robe, and crowds into your space. 'Reflexes like that...' he breathes, his voice…