✧✦✧

PROFESSOR OLIVER WOOD

act one  ━  chapter nine

. . . . . .

━ THE HOGWARTS HERALD ━
september 1993

MORGAN HAD BEEN A PART OF THE HOGWARTS NEWSPAPER CREW since her second year. It was a weekly commitment but had become a lot more responsibility for her since the previous leaders had graduated last year. She had even been promoted to Deputy Chief Editor in September ─ second to Bianca Larsson, who liked to think of Morgan as her equal and didn't like the whole deputy thing ─ leaving her with a group of people she had come to really like.

The first of whom, she was currently with, en route to one of their first few newspaper meetings of the school year: Maggie Ward. Morgan's very own roommate was a delight, and Morgan always said, if you can be comfortable enough around each other to shower while the other one shits then you've definitely come far in your friendship. Maggie tended to stick to Muggle news and School Life.

When Morgan and Maggie strolled into the fourth-floor classroom that they used twice a week for their Hogwarts Herald meetings, Jameson Gray and Drew Carmen were silently munching away on their respective lunches; Bianca had not yet arrived.

"I'm just saying," Maggie carried on with their discussion as they grouped together at the central arrangement of tables, perching on the desks as opposed to the chairs, "wouldn't there be a better way to seek the revenge you so desire that doesn't involve a deadly sport?"

"None that I have thought of, no," Morgan replied, her chin held high as she tried to maintain her belief in this plan of hers that had quite easily spread to her roommates, Maggie and Kamilah.

"I heard revenge and deadly sport," Jameson jumped into their conversation, finishing off the crumbs from his crisps packet by shaking the contents into his mouth at an angle, "I would love an elaboration."

Jameson, a fifth-year, had started the paper at the same time as Morgan. He was cocky but in a charming, amusing kind of way, and always channelled that into his writing, usually politics which he explored in a more than racy, very much not neutral way. He was a Ravenclaw, studious when he had to be, excruciatingly good grades, but an all-around laugh if you were lucky enough to be befriended by him (he was not a people-person, to put it lightly).

"Morgan wants to get onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team so she can win the cup against her shitty ex-boyfriend and see him cry when Hufflepuff apparently lose badly," Maggie explained with a dull expression.

Jameson shot up a little, shifting to the edge of the desk. "Woah." Despite the very little he knew about Morgan and Herbert's breakup, his eyes were wide, intrigued and amused, more than utterly dumbstruck.

Drew edged closer. "You're trying out for the Quidditch team?" She asked astonishedly but not because she didn't think Morgan could do it, but because all things Quidditch related excited the third year.

Enter, another member of their crew, Drew Carmen. A third year. Small, but fierce, and about as passionate about Quidditch as someone can be. Morgan even thought her enthusiasm rivalled Oliver's. It isn't therefore hard to guess what Drew Carmen's column tends to focus on.

At the look of surprise on both of their faces, Maggie nudged Morgan in the side. "You gonna put that in the latest issue?"

"I can see it now, the headline," Jameson said dramatically, his hands sprawled out as he displayed the imaginary title in the air. "Breaking news: Delusional amateur goes for gold, but ends up with a participation commendation."

Morgan's shoulders sagged at the sound of yet another person not even entertaining the idea of having faith in her. She shot Jameson a scowl before pouting and saying, "Why does everyone keep using that word delusional?"

"Great minds think alike?"

"Piss off, you." Jameson sported a shit-eating grin as Morgan continued to defend her so-called delusions. "I'm trying something new."

Just like Oliver would ─ Morgan couldn't help herself comparing the two of them ─ Drew's head snapped over to the group huddled in the middle on the tables, a sparkle lighting up her eyes at the prospect of Quidditch remaining as the topic of conversation. "Quidditch is amazing, you won't regret it," she gushed at Morgan. "The thrill of winning is just-"

"We have got to get you a life," Maggie said, talking over the miniature Ravenclaw as she stared down at the eager girl.

As Drew cowered a little, Jameson poked a finger into Morgan's shoulder. "How do you plan on getting on said team, may I ask, Samuels?"

Morgan busied herself with the hem of her skirt, her head swaying low. "I'm being trained," she mumbled sheepishly.

"Someone agreed to that?" Maggie asked incredulously.

"Yes actually," Morgan replied, sizing up her shoulders to appear confident in herself even if nobody else was, "contrary to your disbelief."

"So," Jameson took a slow sip of the straw of his smoothie, "who is this ill-advised, soon-to-be lost sod?"

While Morgan didn't appreciate the wording, she was in need of hearing her say the name out loud with hopes it would sink in a little. She was still battling her own shock that the so-called "lost sod" had agreed in the first place.

Her eyes fell to the floor as she replied quietly. "Oliver Wood."

"I wouldn't have pegged him for an idiot."

"Jameson!"

Now seemingly over Maggie's no-life comment, Drew came over to the group, plopping herself onto the table nearest to them that wasn't currently occupied with typewriters, bags or bodies. "Oliver Wood is no idiot," she said as she hopped up onto the wooden surface. "It's a real surprise Gryffindor hasn't won the cup under his leadership yet, he's a brilliant captain. With his resilience, and hard work, what with his seriously impressive eye for new talent . . ."

The girl seemed to have an unyielding ability to ramble about Quidditch which was evident as she kept on going, triggered by the mention of the Gryffindor captain.

Maggie turned to look at Morgan and Jameson and said: "We're all blocking her out, right, not just me?"

The two of them nodded in response, as Drew began to reach the end of her rambled speech, three sets of sceptical glances.

"I think they have a really good shot this year, is all I'm saying." Drew shrugged as if everything she had been saying for approximately forty-five seconds straight could all be simplified down to one sentence.

"Oh," Jameson said, his mouth forming an O shape, "that's all you're saying?"

Morgan and Maggie found themselves lapping into laughter, but Drew simply remained collected as she observed the unexplained chuckles. "What?"

"Crushing, Carmen?" Maggie teased.

Drew didn't seem immediately put off by this question. "On his effortless broom abilities? Yes. On him?" Her expression turned sour. "Ew no."

Moving on from Drew's broom envy, and while chuckling at this thirteen-year-old's effortless ability to make everyone laugh without even meaning to, Maggie turned her attention back to Morgan. "It still baffles me that someone of his skill is willing to train someone as . . ."

"Beginner?" Morgan offered, wincing slightly as she silently hoped this wasn't going to be a dig at her.

"I was going to say crappy but beginner will do," Maggie finished, earning a snort from Jameson who still silently sipped on his brightly coloured smoothie. "He must really fancy you."

Morgan could have sworn she could have heard a pin drop. Maggie was still grinning to herself and Jameson was coughing playfully when Morgan rounded on her roommate. "Excuse me? Can we not be cruel for like the rest of the lunch please?" She felt targeted, and attacked, even if Maggie was just teasing. Morgan's relationship with Oliver was strictly professional and she didn't want either of them to feel uncomfortable should anyone insinuate any differently.

"Does that mean we can be cruel as we're leaving the room?" Jameson asked with raised brows. In a matter of seconds, Morgan launched an apple at him. "Ow." He rubbed his temple painfully, and Morgan, not only felt better about her aim (she was going for his stomach, but a hit is a hit) but she also felt perfectly fine about how she had now bruised the one item of food she had packed for lunch.

"My mum dated a Quidditch Captain once," Maggie said, staring into nothing, talking to the room. After a minute, her eyes found Morgan's and Maggie shook her head warningly, her eyes darkening so much Morgan wondered whether it was still a light-hearted joke.

Still, Morgan did not appreciate any kind of implication that she and her new-found Quidditch trainer were to be romantic in any way. She didn't need this stroke of luck to be ruined by awkwardness. "Margaret Ward!"

"Oof," Jameson slurped, "the full name."

"Sorry, I'm late."

Their four sets of ears all piqued up at the sound of Bianca making her entrance, Drew particularly keen to see if the blonde's boyfriend had dropped her off, probably hoping to pick at his brain about the upcoming Quidditch season. Bianca had made her way to the front desk by the time Adrian was waving goodbye and disappearing down the stairs, much to Drew's dismay.

The final member of their crew had arrived: Bianca. Incredibly intimidating, but lovely once you got to know her. Since joining the paper, Bianca has felt like an older sister to Morgan and so it was awfully gross when Morgan's very own brother tried to get in her pants (not quite how it happened, as Jason would argue, but Morgan only sees what her little-sister-eyes wants to see).

Bianca huffed as she deposited her bag onto the front desk, now gazing out at her newspaper crew who stared back at her expectantly. "What have I missed?"

"Drew may be moving on from your boyfriend to Oliver Wood, we may have run out of ink, and Morgan is defying all odds and trying out for the Quidditch team," Jameson answered, placing his smoothie down onto the spot next to him, before hopping off the table and perching onto the chair as he was supposed to.

"So I heard," Bianca hummed, ignoring the first two points (Drew was harmless and kind of adorable, and they wouldn't need ink until they had finished this week's issue). She turned to Morgan, her head tilting. "How's that going? Jason told me . . . all sorts of things."

Morgan had forgotten her brother and Bianca were friends (or rather, he was totally infatuated with the girl despite her rather heftily-built boyfriend). She didn't like this side of her life clashing ─ the newspaper and sibling spats.

Putting on a facade of self-confidence, Morgan shrugged off the dubious looks, sitting up straighter in the chair she now took up. "It's going perfectly well, thank you very much. I'd rather not discuss it at the given moment. And, might I add, I didn't think we all gathered here in our free time to discuss my personal life, now did we?"

"For the record," Jameson raised a hand, "I definitely did exactly that."

Morgan shut him up with a scowl.

"Okay, so," Bianca drawled, peering down at her agenda for the week now that it had been established that they had a newspaper to write and not enough time to do that and dwell on Morgan's crazed life plans. "Drew, you said you wanted to do the upcoming Quidditch tryouts?" The girl in question gave an eager nod. "Maggie, you're on Politics. Morgan, Literature. And, Jameson?"

The gossip column of the Hogwarts Herald was usually never planned out like the other articles were because it relied on current rumours and statistical avoidance of anyone who would want to shut it down. Bianca tended to leave it to Jameson and make sure he wasn't writing anything obnoxiously crude.

His hand shot up in the air. "Can I write about Morgan Samuels' Quidditch hallucinations?"

Instead of an apple, this time, it was a hefty bag that was launched at Jameson's head.

❋❋❋

"DO I OWE YOU MONEY? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD PAY YOU."

Oliver may not turn Morgan into the next Dai Llewellyn, but he will certainly have a laugh in the time that he tries.

Oliver and Morgan had arranged a training schedule for the following week before both agreeing that they should evaluate her improvement by the end of it to see if it was worth going forward with. This was more encouraged by Oliver ─ Morgan had never been so resolute to succeed in something her entire life.

This crisp yet sunny late September afternoon was their first-ever training session before tryouts at the start of October.

Morgan was feeling terrified, yet optimistic as she already knew Oliver was going to be a better teacher than her brother. Oliver was feeling . . . intrigued, for lack of a better word. But not regretful, shock horror.

After meeting in the common room after lessons had concluded for the day, and after all of her friends in her house gawked at the estranged boy and saw them on their way, Morgan and Oliver departed the tower and were off to put the former to the test. This was also following numerous reassuring from Oliver that she did not in fact need to pay him whatsoever (Morgan, stubborn as ever, wasn't going to accept his consistent response and offered to pay for all of his butterbeer for the rest of the year).

To her surprise, Oliver didn't guide her to the practice pitch. In fact, he didn't lead her out of the castle full stop. Her confusion unwavering, Morgan found herself following Oliver up one of the many spiral staircases in the castle and into an empty classroom. It was one that was often used by students when classes had been cancelled or teachers didn't show up and the library was full. But right now, it was void completely of movement and almost dusty from a lack of activity.

Oliver explained how this was actually an active classroom and had to be booked out by students for use as you would do the pitch for training sessions.

She stared around at the room blankly, as if waiting for grass to appear or for some kind of concealing charm to dissipate and transform the classroom into somewhere where a broom could be flown.

"This is not the Quidditch pitch."

He must be lost.

Oliver chuckled as he took a few steps in front of her presenting the room to his new student. "I'm glad you notice that," he joked, before cocking his head to the side. "Maybe you're not so doomed?"

"Please, by all means," Morgan scoffed, "don't sound optimistic."

A cackle ran through him, shaking his frame. "My bad," he said, holding out his arms in defence. "I'll do better, I promise."

Morgan punched his arm as she walked past him, taking a seat in one of the chairs tucked under a desk as she assumed she was supposed to. "You better," she said, and although it may sound like a joke, Oliver didn't want to find out otherwise.

Morgan then watched Oliver roll over a blackboard to stand beside him and it was now clear that it was right of her to assume the need to take a seat at a desk because there was evidently a valid reason for him taking her here instead of outside to the practice pitch.

"Seeing as your knowledge of Quidditch is limited," Oliver drawled, pausing slightly to give Morgan the opportunity to respond should she want to. Instead, she nodded with puckered lips, accepting his statement as one-hundred percent true and fair. "I thought we would start with the basics."

"The basics," Morgan echoed, a slight undertone of confusion which she hoped would lead to his elaboration.

"The rules, standard gameplay, equipment," he listed, earning him a series of nods, "that kind of thing." Oliver then picked up a piece of chalk, and, turning his back on her, began mapping out an oval pitch, marking the posts and white lines. "I think the reason your brother struggled is because-"

"He's incompetent?" Morgan offered, slouching where she sat, her elbows on the desk and her chin resting in her palm.

Oliver chuckled but was quick to return to the important stuff. "Not quite. I think it's because he went straight to the physical side of things without addressing the fact that I don't even think you know how Quidditch works."

"You would be correct in thinking that."

Oliver gave a curt nod. "So. For now, we're going to focus on what Quidditch and flying are like from the ground. Think of it like a physics lesson."

Morgan's head lolled backwards as she absorbed his words, repeating "physics lesson" several times over in a mutter as she tried to grasp this new approach. But, even as Oliver had started with his first lesson, she couldn't hold it in any longer. The question was near about to burst out of her.

"Why are you doing this?"

Oliver hadn't completely figured out the answer to that himself. He'd like to think it was because he was a nice person doing a nice thing for someone in need but, in truth, even he can accept that it's not as simple as that. Sure he loves Quidditch and would dedicate all hours of the day to the very sport if he could. But what was confusing for everyone else ─ and himself, in all fairness ─ was that he barely knew Morgan. They were only just friends. So why did he feel the need to help out a near stranger? To be a good Samaritan? No. Oliver knew it cut deeper than that.

He knew that he and Morgan were grieving the same thing ─ their relationship. Their past relationship. They were both hurting and, while Morgan didn't know it yet (because she'd no doubt find out soon), they were hurting for the same reason.

Oliver reckons he wanted to help Morgan out on her conquest to bring pain to her ex-boyfriend because Oliver wanted to do the same to Katie and just hadn't figured out what he was going to do yet. But ultimately, Oliver knew that he probably never will get revenge on Katie Bell because he just doesn't have the heart to do it.

But Morgan Samuels does.

Think of it as living vicariously through her vengeance as a way to get his own.

With his hand ready and poised with a piece of chalk angled to the far end of the illustrated pitch, Oliver sighed because he didn't have an answer for her. "Let's just leave that to me to worry about, shall we?"

Morgan narrowed her eyes onto his. She concluded that he didn't know the answer to her question and it was probably best that she left that lingering question to him. It was, after all, his to answer.

With that out of the way, chalk still at the ready, Oliver said, "Let's begin."

❋❋❋

"NAME THE ELEVEN COMMON FOULS."

"Blagging, Blocking, Blatching, Blurting, Bumphing, Cobbing, Flacking, Snitchnip, Stooging, Haversacking, Quaffle-pocking."

"I'm so proud."

"I never said I can tell you what they mean."

"I still smell progress."

It was a good thing Morgan Samuels liked revision because, although there were only eleven types of fouls often used in matches, there were actually over seven hundred Quidditch fouls listed in the Department of Magical Games and Sports records. Even the extent of Oliver's knowledge didn't stretch that far.

Still. What with the amount she studied, Morgan picked up new information like it was nothing. It didn't take long for Oliver to go over basic gameplay rules (no going out the boundary lines, time outs, no substitutions, etc ─ he used the analogy of making a potion in Snape's classroom as the pitch as he had learnt that the subject was her strong suit. It seemed he had amused her a lot more than he had intended) and technical additions like fouls ─ tactics and skilled moves to come later, and he'd get her on an actual broom . . . soon. And he was confident she was actually retaining the information. It was all she needed to lay the foundations to actually play the game.

But for now, her stack of notes had been turned over, Oliver's chalkboard flipped around, and she was being tested. No better way to evaluate her progress and to keep her brain awake than recall.

Despite the positives though, an hour in Morgan had a throbbing soreness in her upper back. Oliver, astonishingly, could stay on his feet for hours at a time and did not feel a thing. She was dreading when the actual physical exercises started. But Morgan couldn't forget that she was the one that got herself into this. No complaining allowed!

"How do I know you haven't just made these words up yourself?" Morgan tilted her head to the side to study him. "I mean, come on, Bumphing? With an H? Why does the action even need its own word?"

"I don't make the rules, I just play the game," Oliver replied, despite completely agreeing with her about how absurd some of the vocabulary was. "But can you tell me the action related to Bumphing, Morgan?" He narrowed his eyes into hers questionably, never straying too far from the task at hand, which was, of course, to test her memory (and his teaching skills).

Sighing, as if the question brought her great stress, Morgan answered effortlessly: "Hitting Bludgers towards spectators." She sounded bored ─ this was all too easy.

"And this foul only applies to?"

"Beaters."

"Correct, again. You're on a streak, Samuels."

"What can I say?" She smirked, laying back against her chair, her legs stretching out underneath the desk. "I'm a star pupil in all areas, Professor."

Oliver only exhaled defeatedly, yet also amused, at the nickname, seeing as he had told her it wasn't necessary and she had argued that he was sorely mistaken.

Knowing she wasn't going to let it go, and without any further hesitation, Oliver wanted to test her statement, with another quickfire question: "Name all types of Quaffle throws."

"How many are there again?"

"I'm not giving you that, it's too easy."

"Fine," Morgan huffed, momentarily perturbed before refocusing her attention on thinking hard. "Straight ball, Knuckle ball, Fast ball, and . . . Curve!"

Slapping his hands together, Oliver grinned, proud that he not only managed to teach someone every ounce of information one needed to know how to play Quidditch on paper but also that she had paid attention to it all.

"I think it's time we head outside."

❋❋❋

"WHATEVER YOU'RE ABOUT TO SAY, PLEASE DO NOT PROVE MY BROTHER RIGHT."

Oliver was not about to go singing Jason Samuels' praises but what he was about to say was along the lines of something the Ravenclaw would have said during his training sessions with his sister ("My grandmother could run laps around you, Morgan.").

The Scot held his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Oh," Morgan gasped for air as she continued jogging around the pitch, circling him, "so you're a liar now?"

"I can be meaner," Oliver said, jutting his chin out. It was nearing the end of their agreed session time ─ he felt he had every right to be a little harsher than previously.

Not used to this intense of a workout ─ not to mention, one this long ─ Morgan practically keeled over on her last lap. "I need a nap."

After giving her a five-minute power nap, where she lay sprawled out, shamelessly on the grass, as if sunbathing, Oliver scooped Morgan back onto her feet and they got to drills involving Bludgers and bats and near black eyes.

This ended after approximately fifteen minutes because Oliver already had a dull ache in his shoulder and Morgan's legs looked as though they were about to buckle underneath her.

"Okay, okay, let's call it a day before you send me to the hospital wing, yeah?"

He had been hit with a Bludger ─ one charmed not to fly as fast as gameplay allowed, thank Merlin ─ more times with Morgan on the field than he had his entire life. It's like she had a vengeance against him or somehow didn't understand team sports. Oliver was concerned about what would happen when she played with a not-so-tame Bludger.

After teaching her the ropes in the safety of a classroom, Oliver felt like Morgan was ready for some beginner exercises outside. This mainly included workouts, muscle builders, things he put his own team through to make sure they stayed fit during the Quidditch season. He wanted to establish with Morgan how demanding the sport could be for the human body before he got to the technique of the game.

He wanted to start small with the drills. So, after a recap of the rules and flying protocol now with a physical representation of the balls, brooms, and rest of the equipment, Oliver started on some less challenging warmup exercises involving the Quaffle (only one or two bruises to his upper body) and the Bludger (more than one or two bruises). He decided to leave the Golden Snitch to Harry.

But, no matter how attacked Oliver felt, he was confident she had made lots of improvement in her coordination and durability.

"Oof," she huffed, bending over and resting her hands on her knees, her head craning to look at him. She tried to appraise his emotions when she stared at him. Was he angered that she had accidentally injured him? Amused? Shocked and therefore impressed? (Definitely not the latter).

"At least I'd be useful at fighting off opponents." She did always have a way of looking on the bright side. And from her limited knowledge of Quidditch, brute force ─ while maybe not abiding by the rules ─ seemed to give one a certain advantage (in that you knock the opponent off their broom so that you no longer have an opponent).

Oliver peered down at the girl, squinting from the sunlight, his hands now placed on his hips. "There's a difference between fighting off opponents and rendering them paralysed, Morgan."

She nodded once, punctuated. "Noted."

"But I'm sure the Slytherin team would appreciate your violent tendencies."

"Maybe I'd make for good entertainment?"

There was something very comforting about the fact that Oliver hadn't mentioned anything about her failing completely. Sure, it was a nice gesture, but even now, as they spoke, it was as if she was guaranteed a spot on his team, and that wasn't something completely out of the realm of possibility. He didn't shoot her down, or chuckle awkwardly. He spoke to her like the human being she was ─ not the child her friends had taken her for.

Morgan practically collapsed onto the nearest bench when they made it inside the changing rooms not much later, which, because of her laziness and inability to move her now cramping legs, was on the opposite side of the room to where her belongings were actually nestled.

"Now's the time when you tell me I'm an insult to the good Gryffindor name and have offended every Quidditch lover out here." She was still panting and dragged an arm across her forehead in hopes to appear less sodden with sweat than she actually was.

Oliver came to a stand in front of her, staring down as she began to untie her trainers and free her ─ disgustingly smelly and shamelessly so, apparently ─ feet from the constricting prisons he had advised her to wear. "No to the first one," he said before hesitating to consider a polite way of answering her second point. "And I can't speak for all Quidditch lovers I'm afraid."

Morgan squinted up at him as she kicked off the first shoe, narrowly missing his leg. "I'm sure you've got some notes though for me right? A whole novel's worth, maybe?"

"Not quite a novel."

"How about a novella?"

"Closer, yeah."

Morgan let out a deflated sigh, the gust of air that came out of her powerful enough to blow her bangs away from her face completely.

Sensing her defeat, Oliver tried to reassure her with a calm voice. And also by keeping his notepad of pointers inside his back pocket. "No need to be worried," he said. "It's things I'd tell every beginner."

Morgan stopped pulling off her final trainer for a second, her leg hovering midair, to quirk her eyebrows at him. "Eleven-year-olds, you mean?"

Oliver sucked in a tight breath and winced, struggling to find the best way to answer this that didn't crush all of her dreams. "Well yeah most of them are eleven." At her immediate grunt, Oliver hastily jumped to add: "But you're not someone that has been flying all her life. You're not used to it, you haven't practised. Quidditch is hard and doesn't come easy. You've got a long way to go but I see potential."

She stared at him bored, pausing a minute to see if he had anything else to add before she deadpanned: "I can't tell whether you're being genuine or are just trying to make me feel better about my inevitable failure."

Oliver pointed a finger at the girl on the bench ─ her feet adorned now just with socks ─ and widened his eyes warning her to believe him. "Definitely the former," he said, before noticing that her posture was now non-existent, leaving her body slumped over itself, her hair unapologetically messy. She was making no moves to leave.

With that, he encouraged her with a friendly smile. "Now, let's go get that nap you seem to need so badly."

Morgan hummed into her grin. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

After a treacherous journey back up to the castle, her exhaustion inciting the rage she felt about the number of staircases in one building, Morgan could sense the warmth and comfort of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room; the ones she wanted to curl into right about now.

Now back at the Gryffindor tower, and once through the portrait hole, Morgan stepped to one side and turned to face the boy, putting her tiredness aside for the moment she wanted to talk to him for. "Thank you for today," she said, and she hoped her voice was filled with the appreciation she truly felt. "Seriously. I don't know how you do it."

Oliver chuckled to himself, letting his side fall against the wall, his eyes squinting from his smile. "It's nothing," he dismissed her, but, despite how little she knew about him, Morgan knew he was just saying it for her benefit. He seemed to do that a lot.

"Is that why you limped all the way here?" Morgan joked, but, even as she watched him laugh, her expression morphed into one of a grimace. She had caused him pain and he still seemed to deny she had done anything that brought him any kind of strain. He hadn't known her long enough to be this nice.

"Oof," he sighed, "you noticed that?"

Once their laughter subsided, Oliver locked his eyes on hers and asked, "Why is he worth all of this, Morgan?" His voice was solemn and she didn't like it one bit. She felt a little patronised, although she knew that wasn't Oliver's intention. But, what with all of her friends telling her Herbert wasn't worth any of her strenuous efforts to sabotage him, she couldn't help but think Oliver agreed with them.

Morgan took a deep breath in. This wasn't how she planned her year to go. She had only heard Oliver Wood's name in passing, saw him for a brief moment in the common room. And now, here she was, in a busy, lively room, with her head hung low, and her eyes glassy and sad, confiding in someone who had been so kind to her, without so much as a please from her end.

"Because I was happy," she shrugged, feeling silly as she fiddled with her fingers, nervous this was all too much information, too quick for their friendship development. "And it all went so fast."

Oliver's eyes went cold just then. No longer the coffee shade of warmth, but instead, something mirroring her own melancholy expression, forlorn and sober. He looked away, distracting himself with the crowd-goers of the common room as if he couldn't face what Morgan was saying, as if he couldn't accept that he knew exactly how she felt.

The portrait hole creaked open just then, its wide, floor-to-ceiling length body swinging behind Morgan, as the pair of them remained in silence, Morgan's words hanging between them. Katie Bell strolled into the common room following the gust of air.

Oliver couldn't stop himself from trying to search for her eyes, hoping that she would notice him, acknowledge he still existed at least even if she had moved on with her life. Part of him wanted to regret her actions, to want to take it all back and wish life to be the same as it was before. But she just kept on walking, as if there was absolutely no chance that her ex-boyfriend might just be in this very room at the same time as her.

"I'm sorry," Morgan blurted, seeing how quiet he had gone in a matter of seconds. "I shouldn't have dumped that on you, oh Merlin, I'm so sorry."

Oliver had learned quite quickly that Morgan Samuels seemed to minimise herself quite often. With this in mind, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and softened his features, hoping that the fleeting sighting of the girl who broke his heart wasn't going to rub off on the atmosphere.

"It's okay," Oliver assured. "That's what I'm here for. Therapist, Professor, trainer . . .," he listed the occupations he seemed to have taken on since befriending the girl in front of him, "punching bag?" He teased, because, he will admit, she had most certainly hit him more times in one session than Fred and George Weasley had their entire time at Hogwarts.

Before she could properly think it through, Morgan lightly shoved Oliver in the side.

His eyes lit up with glee as he took the hit with a rocking backwards, "See?!"

Huffing and rolling her eyes at her obvious stupidity, Morgan bit back a toothy grin, ultimately failing.

As their chuckles rolled into the ambience of the room, Oliver spared her a nod and straightened himself out a little. "Good night, Morgan."

His eyes were sorrowful no more. "Night, Oliver."

Morgan was watching the boy ascend the stairs to the dormitory, and smiling to herself at her new-found friend when Bea ambushed her in the middle of the common room. Morgan hadn't seen the girl come from the stairwell or even lurk in the corners of the lounge upon entering, and so the arrival took her by surprise.

"So?" Bea asked enthusiastically, readying herself to hang onto Morgan's every word like Quidditch had never meant more to her than anything in the world. "Am I looking at Gryffindor's next Chaser?"

"Which role is that again?"

"Oh, you're doomed."

Morgan couldn't delay her grin any longer, which broke out only moments later as she and Bea slumped down into their favourite spot in the far corner of the common room ─ the worn window seat, where they silently agreed to talk over a box of jelly beans. Morgan was instantly grateful to get off her feet.

"I'm only joking," Morgan waved a hand around nonchalantly as she curled her legs up to her chest. "I think I actually nailed the rules today. Oliver used a Potions analogy after I told him what I got on the Amortenia essay."

It may be early days (code for one session) and Morgan doesn't mean to get ahead of herself, but she seriously thought that if she and Oliver kept at the rate she was going, she might actually stand a chance at a reserve spot. He seemed to explain things to her in a way that didn't sound like he was dumbing it down but in a way she could make sense of all of this foreign information in her very orderly brain. She knew Jason was just being brotherly.

"Okay, one) for the record, I do not want to know what you got on that essay for my personal sanity," Bea started, scoffing at Morgan's flawless ability to do well in every exam they get set, "two) I'm very curious, was Snape involved in this analogy? And, three) oh my God, did Oliver Wood really do the unthinkable?" Bea gasped, crossing her legs underneath her body as the both of them plopped a sweet in their mouths.

Morgan secretly liked the wide eyes on her best friend's face ─ it was a sign of possibility, that this might work and it might end up being believable. "Snape was the central player in the analogy ─ who do you think was warding off the Bezoars from the cauldrons? And maybe?" Morgan's head shrunk into her shoulders as she answered Bea's questions one by one. "Too soon to say?"

"A miracle, nonetheless."

"Oh," Morgan hummed, three jelly beans lining her mouth, "and I got an Outstanding." Bea's face was immediately struck with fury and Morgan chuckled smugly as she answered the girl's unspoken question. "And yes, I did just tell you that to piss you off."

Bea gave a big gulp as she swallowed. "You're a real charmer."

With Bea's curiosity quelled, Morgan thought back to how they got onto the topic in the first place and it was time for some curiosity of her own. "Why do you think I'd be a Chaser anyway?"

"Because if anyone is going to lose their spot, it's Katie."

Morgan didn't understand her friend's nonchalance in answering, as if a girl losing all she had worked for in the past seven years being stripped from her was nothing. Especially if all that hard work was given up for an amateur such as Morgan. "But she's like one of the best players in the school?"

"And you know this because of all the matches you've watched?"

"I pay some attention when Casper talks," Morgan replied timidly at the reminder that she was trying out for a sport she had put no effort into enjoying over the last several years.

Bea's top lip disappeared as she pondered this thought before deciding that paying attention to Casper Romero's Quidditch rambles ─ he and Drew would be great friends come to think of it ─ was brave. "More than me."

Morgan pulled a face that may have looked thoughtful if it weren't for the rotten egg jelly bean on her tongue. "Why would Katie be more likely to lose her spot?"

"They broke up."

There it was again ─ Bea's natural reflex to act so casual about happenings in other people's lives. Not only was she assuming Morgan understood what these three very vague words meant, but she shrugged innocently as if her response could answer all the world's problems.

Utterly baffled, Morgan jutted her head out, consequently choking on her next choice of jelly bean ─ candyfloss, thank Merlin ─, and coughing out her reply: "What?"

Bea went very still and leaned forward as if she was talking to a child, having to spell it out. "They broke up," she said slowly.

It was the same fated three words and offered up no solution to Morgan's puzzlement. "Who?"

"Oliver and Katie?"

This Morgan understood.

Slowly, her eyes drifted away from Bea's harsh gaze, and onto the rug on the floor beside them. This certainly explained a few things. A few more than Morgan had bargained for, in fact.

When Morgan didn't reply, but instead fell into an eerie daze, Bea assumed the girl was still not up to scratch with the current conversation. "No hablas ingles?" She said loudly into the quiet girl's ear.

"Please be serious for just like five minutes?" Morgan said through a strained expression.

"I am being serious," Bea assured her, holding her hands up in mock surrender, the box of sweets rattling in her hands as the individual beans bounced around the cardboard. "She dumped him on the train over here."

Oliver Wood was a private person. Despite his loud tendencies on the Quidditch pitch and his need to be in control of his team at most points in the day, he kept to himself. Didn't speak up loads in class, got good enough grades, slaved over everything Quidditch related as if he had to bear the burden of captainship all on his own without support. And so to someone that didn't know him, someone like Morgan, Oliver Wood was just another student.

Morgan didn't know nearly enough about Oliver and Katie's relationship to gauge the rest of the story in lots of depth, but from how dejected and broken he had seemed on the Hogwarts Express and during the weeks that followed, Morgan now knew that his relationship meant so much to him that when it was suddenly not there anymore, ripped from his grasp, it hurt. And she knew how he felt.

Morgan and Oliver had been in the same boat for so many weeks ─ something he knew ─ and she hadn't even realised. Is that why he didn't hesitate to train her?

"Oh shit."

Bea's mouth was full of jelly beans at this point as she watched a dazed and confused Morgan put together all of the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, her mind a series of cogs churning. "Did you not know?"

"I guess I noticed something was wrong," Morgan said, finally lifting her head just enough to meet Bea's shocked expression, "but I didn't know it was like that."

"Yeah, apparently it was brutal," Bea hummed, and there didn't seem to be an ounce of sympathy. "Poor sod."

People had got to stop calling him that.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫!

sheesh, why so long?

but new characterssss!

check the act one chapter for who i
envision as jameson and drew (who may or may
not be a principal character in
another story in my lil universe ...)

also gf experience readers,
notice anything about maggie?
her name, per say ...🤭🤭