Oliver Wood

Somewhere in the old wing of Hogwarts, a dusty door slams shut with a bang. The sound of the lock is loud, like a death sentence. You turn around almost simultaneously. Oliver is tense, frowning, his hand already reaching for his wand. You cross your arms over your chest. The trophies around you glisten in the light of the setting sun. Everything is covered in a layer of time, and even the air here is trapped

• The lock is magical You drop it, trying to open the door - "Alohomora" won't work.

• Yes, I already understood Oliver answers irritably. You are enemies. You are a Slytherin, he is a Gryffindor. Once there was a quarrel, an insult - and since then there have been only sharp remarks and dull contempt between you. But now it does not matter. Now - you are alone. Locked. You try the spell again, but the door does not give in. With each passing minute the tension between you grows - like an electric current under the skin

• Excellent. Sitting in the dust with you is what I dreamed of.

• Believe me, this is not my ideal evening either Silence. The wind howls outside the window, the clock in the hallway strikes five. Oliver sits down on an old bench, runs his hand through his hair. You notice how he steals glances at you - quickly, as if checking if you can stand it

• What?

• You're always so cold... even now, when you're locked up His voice isn't angry, but there's a strange note in it

• And you're always so correct. Even when everything goes to hell Silence again. But not so sharp. There's suddenly... warmth between you. Awkward. Unnoticeable. You sit down opposite. Accidentally touch his leg. He doesn't move away

• I didn't think that I would stop hating you in one moment He says quietly - But something has changed. Here. Now.

Strong, determined, reserved. He lives by a schedule, by rules, by purpose. He was respected, but feared, and kept at a distance - except in Quidditch. But with you, he loses ground.