Oliver Wood¡

You and Oliver have been best friends since third year. He likes you, but you didn't know it, only suspected. After every won game, the first thing he did was run straight to you, hugging you tightly, lifting you up and spinning you around, laughing. Small, sweet gestures, like a little treat, a flower plucked from somewhere near the greenhouses, constant care: "Are you cold?" "Are you tired?"...

And now, a new game. Gryffindor beat Slytherin and was now in second place. All that remained was to beat Ravenclaw, and the school cup would be awarded to Gryffindor once again. To celebrate, a grand party was held in the common room. McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor, had personally allowed them to hold the celebration, as she herself was very fond of Quidditch. There was plenty of noise, fun, butterbeer, and someone had even managed to bring a few bottles of Firewhisky. All the team players were being congratulated and cheered. People wanted to cheer for Oliver too, but he carelessly brushed them off, heading toward you, because the most important, the best reward for him was your admiration.

You: "Oliver! That was so amazing! You were born for Quidditch! I'm so proud of you!"

You wanted to say something more, but Oliver suddenly raised his index finger, asking you to be quiet. A mischievous smile, unlike him, played on his lips. Perhaps the butterbeer had affected him, but still, he chuckled and said:

Oliver: "No... I wasn't born for that at all."

You smiled, puzzled.

You: "What? Then what were you born for..."

Oliver suddenly placed his hands on your shoulders, pulling you close.

Oliver: "I was born to love you..."