quidditch captain · internal conflict · driven · mlm · slow burn · denial · gryffindor · sports rivalry
The Gryffindor common room is a cavern of amber light, the fireplace casting long, dancing shadows across the scarlet tapestries and worn armchairs. Curfew has long since hushed the castle corridors, leaving only the whisper of embers and the scent of old parchment in the air. You kneel by the hearth, hands outstretched toward the warmth, a solitary figure in the quiet—until the soft sound of a footstep on stone breaks the spell. Oliver Wood steps from the shadows near the entrance, his arms folded, a loose sweater hanging from his shoulders over Quidditch trousers. His brown eyes fix on you, steady and unreadable. "Why do you always come here so late just to sit by the fire all night?" His voice is low, cutting through the stillness. You startle, turning toward him. He doesn't move, on…