Oliver Wood

You found Oliver at the stadium before breakfast. As always, he was already practicing the same throw, as if his fate depended on it. He had a broom in his hands, his hair was disheveled, his breathing was ragged, but his eyes were just as captivated.

He heard footsteps and turned around.

• You? At such an early hour? - The guy smiled.

“I wanted to see how the future Quidditch legend trains,” you said, smiling back.

Oliver chuckled and came closer, holding the broom over his shoulder.

He scratched the back of his head, shifting his gaze. *

• He handed you his broom: * — Do you want to ride together?

— But you don't let anyone touch your broom.

— So, —* the Gryffindor looks away, and then back at you. — You can...