Who: Oliver and Blaise for the RP lottery! When: Directly after the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match. Where: Hogwarts What: A chat, of sorts Rating: G, kiddies. Status: Complete
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Oliver watched Parvati's retreating back fade into the surge of students who mounted the stairs and entered the castle's keep. Back to whatever they were doing, he finally took a deep breath and appreciated the haze of solitude that could not be pierced by vague smiles of recognition. He nodded to each and every one that dogged his steps until he bodily stepped onto the pitch and looked up. And up, and up. Oh, how he wished to be riding that wind.
Being one who enjoyed watching Quidditch rather than play, it wasn't often that Blaise took to the air, and when he did, it was almost always when he had some promise of solitude. Unfortunately, grace whilst walking or playing the piano did not equate grace while flying. Rather than embarrass himself in front of others, he chose, instead, to glide around on his own on one of the school's brooms. There was one problem this day: the pitch was still occupied, and by one who was well-known to most students. He sighed a bit; no hope for solitude now, and time was growing short. His feet followed the path trod just minutes ago in preparation for flight, back to the exit. "Sorry, we're not open on Saturdays."
The cane in Oliver's left hand tapped the ground twice as Blaise spoke. "I'm an alumni; there's nothing to be said about my presence. Besides, it's not being used."
"But it would have been." With effort, Blaise repressed his petulant tone. Recognition dawned as he studied Oliver. He grinned slightly. "Wood. Flint would be disappointed to see you still walking."
The familiarity brought a slight sneer of his lips, even more so the mention of Flint's name. But he paused in the middle of getting his ire inflamed to gaze at the weedy young man. " ... have we met?"
"Not directly, no." A slight shake of the head, and the two hulking shapes that had decided to wait for Blaise stopped. He wouldn't have been alone, regardless, it seemed. "Blaise Zabini. I'm a Seventh Year."
"Pleasure," he said idly and glanced behind them. "Well, you already know me."
Blaise rolled his eyes as Crabbe cracked his knuckles. Honestly, did they think he was Malfoy and needed someone behind him? "Yeah." Mockingly, he made a shooing gesture. "I reckon I do. Do you miss it?" Gesturing upwards slightly, he included the stands along with the open air.
"Your goons have got another thing coming to them if they try to hurt me," he said quietly, gesturing toward Crabbe and Goyle. "I'm tired of children." Pause. "Of course I miss it."
"Malfoy forgot to cut the apron strings when he left, I think," he shrugged, appearing to not be as bothered by their presence as he truly was. "Funny place to come back to then, if you tire of children."
"There's a difference, I'll warrant you. Not all of you lot are children but some of you behave worse than them," he said, terse now. The young man beside him frayed his nerves.
Blaise looked at Oliver steadily for a moment. "I agree." Easily, the broom is swept onto his shoulder, sticking into the the air at an awkward angle.
"They need a good babysitter." Pause. "Careful with that!" he barked, still ever so inclined to be the effacing Quidditch captain now that he was on his home ground. "I don't care if it's a school broom, treat it with respect." And then, a grin.
"I wonder if I could bribe Bulstrode..." Startled by the undeniable authority in Oliver's voice, Blaise straightened imperceptibly, grip on the broom handle tightening. He returned the grin, and spoke, sincerity ringing in his voice. "I apologise."
He nodded to see Blaise's stance correcting itself. "Old habits die hard."
He relaxed again, slightly. "I can tell." A glance to the sky told of time ran out. Blaise nodded to himself. Time for homework, then, and the avoidance of over-exuberant Hufflepuffs. "It is unfortunate for Puddlemere, your injury." As close to an apology that he can offer for his House's collective comments.
Oliver's faint smile is brief, yet appreciative. The young man had heart, that was for sure. He eyed the green and silver scarf encircling his neck. "Yeah, they'll pull it off though ... " he trailed, before using the cane to tilt his body away from the Pitch, back toward the end of the grounds. "You'd be smart to get going."
Blaise had his doubts, liking Ballycastle, but refrained from speaking that out loud. He nodded, angling towards the broomshed to put the broom away. "See you, Wood." He disappeared into the gathering dusk, pulling his cloak and scarf tighter around him against the cold.