Who: Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood. When: Late summer 1997. Where: Oliver's flat in London. Rating: PG perhaps for a little flirting through the tears. Warnings: None. Summary: Hermione seeks Oliver out after the death of his father, which unfortunately isn't too long after the loss of Albus Dumbledore. Status: Closed. COMPLETE.
It was a year to be remembered, in more ways than one. And not for all the good that had happened. Dumbledore's death had shaken Hermione Granger to her core. It was devastating, humbling, and horrifying. She had left shortly after his funeral and only just got back from a trip to the Muggle world, visiting family and updating them on what was happening. She didn't like lying to them, but the alternative was unthinkable. Already she was formulating in her head plans of action to protect them should things not go well. She hoped she wouldn't have to use any of it, but she was prepared to do what she had to do. No matter what.
What she wasn't prepared for was the news she heard when she arrived. The attack at the stadium. And the lives lost. Voldemort was stepping up his aggression. If he kept up this pace it would only get worse by epic proportions. But for someone she knew it had already gotten as bad as it could get. Oliver Wood's father was one of the casualties that had been reported. Though Hermione didn't know Oliver very well, she had admired his organisation, strong will, and tenacity from afar. Her best mates had often complained Oliver was a bit of a slave driver. Pushing them all the time and obsessed with nothing but excellence when it came to Quidditch. Hermione didn't see a thing wrong with it. Merlin knew she had tried to push them to succeed in other things herself.
But she couldn't let what had so recently happened go unacknowledged. As someone who had come to a lot of hard decisions and conclusions, she felt the need to reach out to someone else who might be going through something similar on a more personal scale. She took a breath and knocked on the door to his flat. She hoped he was there, and more importantly, she hoped he could use a little company.
Oliver looked at the photograph and felt like crying. There they were: Calum Wood and a five-year old Oliver who constantly tried to get closer to the dusty old broom in a corner and kept being whisked back by his father. They'd nearly driven the photographer insane that day, Oliver recalled and smiled in bitter-sweet reminiscence before packing it away into the box where he stored the other pictures. He was going to allow himself one more day of mourning and as of tomorrow his life would change. Somehow.
Oliver sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in every direction, when a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Angelina probably, he thought. Or the twins or Alicia. There would be no need to make himself presentable such as attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt (an ancient thing he'd gotten as a joke years ago, displaying the rather embarrassing text: 'Kiss this Keeper.' Again, his friends had seen it before and the thing was comfortable.)
"Coming." Oliver called, put the picture box back on the couch next to the tissues, opened the door and...paled upon realizing that it was Hermione Granger. The cleverest witch of her generation as everyone seemed so fond of reminding him.
Oliver gulped and a hand went to his chest, trying to cover up the embarrassing text and wishing desperately that he didn't look quite so rumpled. "Er...I can explain."
Hermione waited calmly; she looked up and down the small corridor, her bag slung over her shoulder. She didn't say anything when she heard the 'Coming' from the other side. And when Oliver opened the door, she smiled. "Hey Oliver," she greeted him. Though at his flustered look, she tilted her head, almost unsure. "Are you alright? I didn't catch you at a bad time did I?" It sounded silly to her own ears considering just why she had come by in the first place.
Explain? She smiled and shook her head. "You don't have to explain anything." At least not as far as she knew. She wasn't exactly expecting an ideal picture and she was just glad he had answered the door. Then, she realized her mistake and it was her turn to look embarrassed. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off guard and come by unannounced. I would have contacted you by floo first, of course, but I only just got back from the Muggle world, and then I heard the news; what happened at the stadium and the attack, and I couldn't believe that even Vol -- that even that vile creature could be so brazen, then I heard about what went on with you, and I wasn't thinking, I just came over and -- " She stopped, realizing that she was explaining her entire thought process...which wasn't really for the faint of heart. And rarely did it make sense outside her head.
She took a breath and settled for the simple instead, and it seemed like the right thing to do. "I'm sorry for your loss, Oliver." She met his eyes and hoped it conveyed the sympathy she felt. "Really, I am." She stood there in the hallway and then looked down and away. It was so hard to know what to do in these situations. "Is it alright if I come in?" Merlin. She was terrible at this.
Somehow seeing Hermione stutter and struggle for the right words as she obviously did broke the spell and Oliver relaxed. "Has anybody ever told you that you're absolutely hopeless at this?" He said as he opened the door to let her in and was surprised to find a small, sad smile on his face. Perhaps she wasn't that bad, after all.
"Come on, have a tea or something." He looked at the stuff strewn across his couch and quickly went to make a spot free for Hermione by oh-so-elegantly depositing everything on the floor and sweeping half of it underneath the couch. "Sit down. Don't mind the chaos. I'm making tea, okay? Do you like green tea? This disgustingly healthy stuff?" Clearly he was as bad at being social as Hermione was – as long as the topic wasn't Quidditch. He was undisputed Quidditch talk champion.
"I had a bit of an inkling," she admitted with a slight smile. But as Oliver seemed to relax and then let her pass, she glanced at his chest and nodded. "Hmm. Nice shirt...." She said absently and walked into the flat.
Hermione wasn't always the best at expressing her feelings. And teenage awkwardness didn't help. Unless she was upset, then she could express how she felt perfectly. Ask Ron. But analysing feelings? She was aces. "Thanks," she smiled a bit as he managed to find her a spot in his own unique way. "Yes, I like it just fine." Not her favourite, but she wasn't going to quibble. As she tried to make herself comfortable, she couldn't help but notice the box of tissues...the open picture box...and the one that was staring up at up at her.
"Is this your dad?" She held up the picture for him to see what she was looking at. The same one that he was recently gazing at before she arrived. "And let me guess, this cute kid...?"
"...grew into the stunningly handsome man you now see before you." Oliver dead-panned, looking ridiculous in his old shirt and with the sad eyes.
He smiled sadly as he picked up the cups of tea and put them down on the assembly of Quidditch-magazines piled up on his coffee-table before sitting down next to Hermione. It was nice of her to come by, Oliver thought, but wasn't really sure how to put that into words without sounding like an idiot. After all, he'd only ever known Hermione as that girl who charmed Harry's glasses in what he liked to call their 'monsoon'-game in his last year.
Oliver looked at the picture Hermione held in her hand for a moment and saw himself as a child, now busy making faces at the photographer. He was slightly amazed how his father had ever managed to put up with him and the moment the thought crossed his mind was exactly the moment his throat constricted again and he felt tears prick behind his eyelids.
"This is..." He started hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "I'd like to re-wind this year and start anew."
Hermione actually chuckled at that, nodding her head at the display of playful ego that was still obviously tinged with sadness. "And witches everywhere thanked their lucky stars." Normally, Hermione might've been full of sarcasm at such a reply, but in this case, she really was attempting a compliment.
She had probably changed in a lot of respects since then. All teeth and hair. And now she was normal teeth, half hair, and at least a little bit taller. She would be starting her seventh year soon. Or she would be if she hadn't already come to some conclusions on her own.
She accepted the tea cup with a smile and blew across the surface to help cool it. She didn't need Oliver's thanks. It wasn't about thanking her. It was about comforting him. However little she could. "Would you do things differently?" It was a question people often contemplated. But she found herself genuinely wanting to know.
She hesitated when she heard the sadness in his voice, but reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. She was getting better at this, she thought.
Oliver stared at his tea cup for a moment without really seeing it when Hermione's hand squeezed his. Almost automatically, his fingers closed around hers in an unconscious effort to hold on to something after his safe, Quidditch-filled world had toppled off into complete chaos.
Oliver sighed and bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I always knew you had a thing for Quidditch players." He said softly, a hint of a smile crossing his face before vanishing again the next moment.
"I don't know if I would have done anything differently." Oliver finally admitted and looked at their hands without actually seeing them. "It doesn't matter anyway. All that matters now is how we go on. Now that..." He swallowed heavily, then caught himself. Barely.
"Things have grown a lot worse since Dumbledore died, haven't they?"
For once, Hermione didn't try to find the right words or even try to contemplate what to say. She just sat in silence, holding his hand, waiting for him to speak first. It was an exercise in willpower.
His first words caught her off guard however and she actually stifled a laugh. It didn't quite work. "Viktor Krum does not constitute a trend," she smirked, doing her best to look indignant. It didn't quite work either. Still, the fact that he was smiling, even briefly, was good to her.
She set her tea cup down and turned toward him; covering his hand with her other one as well. "And even if you had, it probably wouldn't have changed anything." It didn't help or work doing 'what ifs' and 'maybes' and she was glad to see he hadn't fallen into it.
"Yeah," she said. "They have." She wouldn't lie to him, even now. She respected him. But Dumbledore's death had devastated her. That was the moment everything had changed. Maybe this was his moment. "Oliver...." He was sharing so much, and she knew how vulnerable he felt. It was only fair that she would do no less. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts for my final year." She hadn't told anyone that outside of her best mates. And they'd decided at the time to keep it quiet.
"You're...not? But why?" Oliver blinked in puzzlement, then frowned. "You're not planning to do anything stupid, are you, Hermione?"
He turned around and unconsciously tightened his grip on her hands. "Granger, listen. Enough people have died already and won't lose any more. Do you honestly think a couple of fucking teenagers are going to stand a chance against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters? When fully-qualified Aurors failed?" Oliver was getting into a slight panic and he knew it but didn't seem capable of holding back. For when he thought about it, that was exactly what Harry, Ron and Hermione had been doing all those years: they'd had their annual little fight with You-Know-Who. Oliver paled at the thought - especially considering that no one - really no one - had ever managed to prevent the three from doing what they wanted. He sighed.
"Anything I can do to help?"
That felt incredibly good to finally say. She'd spent the past month lying to her parent's faces about her grand plans for school. And when she went back in another couple of weeks, well, she was putting provisions in place that would ensure they wouldn't need to care about it if their only child disappeared. Or if Voldemort went after them to find her and her friends.
She started to answer his question, but then closed her mouth when he implored her to listen. She winced at the unexpected tightening of his grip. Strong quidditch hands. His intensity actually gave her pause, but rather than being put off, she smiled. "We're not kids anymore." And really, they weren't. Hermione would have her majority soon and Ron wasn't far behind. "Besides, I trust Harry. And I won't let him do this on his own." The horcruxes might be their only hope and she wanted to be there to help, to guard, and lend what she could to the efforts. And she couldn't do that anywhere but at his side.
She watched him pale and that just made her smile a little more. "It's down to the snitch now. If we don't catch it...then the other team will. Game over." The horcruxes were the best hope they had. "And we won't really be alone. There are others who have been moving against You-Know-Who and...and I didn't come to solicit your help. I just thought that maybe it would give you some comfort to know we're still fighting" Despite so many losses. "And we're going win."
Oliver smiled despite himself at Hermione's Quidditch metaphors. He appreciated her effort to translate things into 'Oliver-speak', then blinked in surprise at seeing her wince. His gaze travelled down to their hands and he immediately released his death grip on Hermione's hands. It wasn't like squishing her fingers would be helpful. At all.
"Sorry." Oliver mumbled sheepishly and sighed. "Hermione, I know you can fight and you have to and..." He frowned, looking for some way to voice his concerns, his steadily building frustration at being pushed into a situation none of them should have been pushed into in the first place. "You just shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to fight this war. Dumbledore should have never encouraged you and Harry in the first place. It's not fair. You should be worrying about your N.E.W.T.s or your new boyfriend or skirt or whatever it is girls worry about."
Unconsciously his fingers closed around Hermione's again as if requiring physical reassurance from the petit young woman before he raised his eyes to meet hers again. "We will win, Hermione. But I want to make sure the 'collateral damage' is down to a minimum. I..." He hesitated, then decided to be as honest with Hermione as she had been with him. "I have a few contacts. Around next months we'll start evacuating Muggleborns and whoever else wants to flee." He was not going to risk any more people getting caught in this fight. If he'd acted before then perhaps – just perhaps – his father could still be alive now. Oliver's eyes hardened in determination.
"So let's coordinate our efforts." He said, suddenly all business.
She really was trying. And she was glad to see that he got it, at least from her perspective. She shook her head, brushing away his apology. She knew how high emotions could run, and after what Oliver had been through, she wouldn't wish it on anyone. "No one should have to...but, here we are." She wasn't happy about it, but she would follow through.
A smile came to her face at the mention of N.E.W.T.s however, only Hermione Granger would be excited at the prospect of taking them. "My N.E.W.T.s aren't going anyway," she grinned. She'd studied so hard. She had planned on taking all 11 she had passed back during fifth year. She'd be back. She knew it. But at the mention of a boyfriend, she blushed furiously. Hermione cleared her throat, "Yes, well," she reached for her tea and took a sip before setting it down, "those are silly things to worry about, most especially now."
Hermione squeezed back, needing some reassurance too despite all the confidence she tried to show. She was scared. But it was a luxury she couldn't afford. "Oliver...are you...?" She was a little surprised. More than surprised. He was already thinking of getting so involved. But as her mind wrapped around it and she found herself nodding. "I think that's for the best. Because if things go wrong, being a muggleborn isn't going to be the safest status known." Unfortunately.
"Are you sure?" She looked at the Quidditch Keeper. "I mean, you have a lot going on, Oliver. Maybe we can end this soon," or maybe not. That was the real worry. "You've been through too much already."
"So me crying 'not fair', won't help?" Oliver asked with a small smile which quickly grew into an amused grin as Hermione's face all but lit up at the mention of N.E.W.T.s. He did understand passion for something, after all Quidditch was his life, but the topic Hermione had chosen to be passionate about was surprising. Impressing, too, but Oliver wasn't about to admit that he thought a perhaps-not-so-wee schoolgirl smarter than himself. He didn't have to say it. It was blatantly obvious and he was glad to have such a smart person on their side.
"I understand." Oliver said with a twinkle in his eyes even the sadness over his father couldn't suppress. "You go out and save the world, finish your education and then it's time for romance. At least you got your priorities straight." He said with a shrug. "I really understand that. And yes, I'm one-hundred percent sure. I can't keep playing Quidditch and living a perfect life while people are being tortured and...you know. I just can't, so you know what? Once this is all over with and we all solved our priorities we go out on a date." It was completely spontaneous (and insane) but somehow the notion amused the Scot. "Unless there's someone else in your life of course." Oliver said with a wink that was almost as playful as it used to be before things went bad. A parody of better times perhaps. Of times he longed to live in again.
Hermione laughed and shook her head, "Considering the number of times I've said it, it doesn't seem to help much at all." She had such an absolute sense of right and wrong, unfairness and inequality rankled her fiercely. If Oliver had his love of all things Quidditch, she had her's of academics. Both required a good deal of discipline. Something she could definitely appreciate.
"I guess," she was still blushing a bit, feeling the heat on her cheeks. As confident as she was in her academics, she still had a ways to go to translate it socially. She had her close friends, and that was it. "I wouldn't expect you would stand by," she admitted. Life changing events. But she wasn't going to push him. She wasn't surprised he felt the need to take action himself. Oliver was still Gryffindor through and through. "Huh?" Hermione stopped mid-thought and found herself looking at the Quidditch Keeper.
"I -- " She blinked. A simple statement followed by a simple question. "No," she cleared her throat, "actually. There isn't." She found herself getting over that deer in the headlights look and she chuckled softly. "Alright then. It's a date," she said resolutely.
"And alas for the first time in history persistence fails." Oliver said, curiously pleased to see her blush. It was nice to think that such mundane little things as flirting and...whatever it was, still existed. That he could even make a woman blush - and not out of anger for once.
"Okay. So you mentioned you got help, right? You're not rushing off against You-Know-Who on your own and you've got a plan, too, right? Colour-coded and all that?" It didn't hurt to make sure before Hermione's wide-eyed look at his question about men in her life made him grin once again.
"You know what, Hermione? I retract my earlier statement. You are very good at this. I haven't smiled this much since..." Since his father died. Oliver bit his bottom lip and averted his eyes for a moment. "You may want to consider a career at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after this is all over." The impish smirk returned. "But you can't bring toys to our date! I'd be frightened knowing that you're armed with stuff the twins thought up." Merlin knew, he'd been victim of their pranks often enough and conducting a practice while being turned into a giant canary? Wasn't easy.
"I don't know about that," Hermione grinned. "If something is unfair, you do something about it." She tilted her head, "Which is precisely what we are doing now, isn't it?" Failure wasn't ever an option in Hermione's eyes. Her fear of failure had since translated from her academics to the war at hand. She couldn't stand the thought of the enemy winning. It was just too...she couldn't even consider it. As much as her mind rebelled and do it anyway.
She nodded, "I did. Harry and Ron will be there. And we know of others who will be running interference. I've already packed provisions, in case we need to leave sooner than anticipated. Maps and supplies." She started to tick off in her head all she still had left to do, but mostly she was prepared. She laughed again, feeling a bit more relaxed than even before. "It's not exactly colour coded, thank you very much," she drew herself up as if indignant, but her eyes told the lie of it. "Still, I think it will do."
"Do you?" She smiled again and seemed pleased. That's why she'd come in the first place. To make sure he was okay. And as hard as things were, she felt more confident now that he would be. "Work with the twins? I don't think so," she had a desire to keep her sanity. Her face brightened with a grin at his edict, "Nothing that might cause boils, elastic skin, temporary numbness of your toes, fingers, or any other bodily extremity. I promise."
Hermione was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, that smile still there on her lips, and she knew precisely why. She met Oliver's gaze and saw that spark in them that was all playful Scot. "It'll be nice to have something to look forward to when we come back."
"As if calling a penalty shot is going to help here." Oliver replied in a dry voice and settled back comfortably on the couch. He couldn't recall Hermione being so...alive. So strong and energetic before when they'd shared a Common Room, but then again Oliver had never paid attention to anything beside his beloved sport. Perhaps that had been a mistake, he thought and promptly chocked on his tea at this blasphemous thought. Nothing was nearly as important as Quiddtch. Except perhaps winning a war and going on a date afterward. Speaking of which...
"Only the three of you?" Oliver leaned forward, wearing a slight frown. "Okay. I see where this makes sense. Slip though the cracks so to speak while other people do the distractions, right?" Merlin, he loved a good strategy and this seemed like the only way that promised a hint of success. "Just make sure your supplies don't consist solely of treacle tarts and butterbeer. Because when I went packing for my first hiking tour through the Highlands that was all I brought." Oliver smiled at the recollection. "You have no idea how horrible treacle tarts taste after you had nothing but those for a few days."
His smile got a tad bit softer before he continued. "And you know what? Provided you promise me that no harm shall befall any of my extremities, it is something to look forward to indeed." And curiously enough, it was.
Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Always the Quidditch." She'll set aside the fact that she was the one who started it before with the talk about the snitch. She wondered briefly if Harry and Ron realized their imposing and obsessed fearless former Quidditch captain had such an infectious sense of humour. No, not Oliver Wood.
"That's the idea," she said in confirmation. "With everyone so busy and engaging each other directly, hopefully that will give us the time we need to hunt down what we suspect could possibly end this war for good. But if anyone suspects what we're on to, it could become quite a bit more difficult." She knew Oliver would understand, though part of her was afraid he would balk at the three of them running around the English countryside. She grinned, "What about chocolate frogs? Would those ever really get old?"
The brown haired girl nodded her head once, "I think I can do that. At least not from me," she amended. "I have seen some of your matches. You put your own extremities in harms way without any help."
Oliver shrugged good-naturedly. "Of course always the Quidditch. You have no idea what a wonderful advantage being underestimated can be." He leaned forward. "Let me tell you a secret, Hermione. As long as 'the Quidditch-obsessed maniac' is all that people see in me, I'm safe. 'Cause who is going to believe that I, with my head always on Quidditch, would ever go and smuggle Muggleborns out of the country? That's our cover-story. Hiding in plain sight more or less." Why he shared that in painful detail with Hermione was beyond him. But still, it felt good and somehow Oliver realized that he hoped for her approval. Something like a metaphorical stamp of 'Hermione-approved', so he could feel that this plan of his might actually work in real life as well as it did in theory. After all, Oliver didn't exactly fancy himself Ravenclaw material.
Considering Hermione's strategy, on the other hand, Oliver had to admit that she definitely earned the metaphorical 'Oliver stamp of approval'. It was brilliant and it required guts. "Chocolate Frogs might work but you need to remember to gag them. Or stun them, so they don't make any noise."
Oliver smiled and looked down again, dimples appearing on his cheeks. "You have only seen some of my matches? I would have thought you've seen every single one of them since Harry was on the team." Only then did he remember that there were games he'd played in afterward without his favourite Seeker and he had the urge to invite Hermione to come and see him play when reality interfered and Oliver's smile dropped.
"How long do you have before you go?"
"I can certainly see where it could be effective," She found it hard to believe someone could underestimate Oliver. But she knew more than one person who had thought exactly what he was saying right now. He was Mr. Quidditch and nothing else really mattered. How wrong they were. "A secret? Do tell." As Hermione listened, expression set and serious, she took in what he said and let her mind wrap around it. Poking it, prodding at it, and attentive still all the while. Then, slowly, a smile appeared on her face. "No wonder we won so many games. That's brilliant." Hermione was already thinking with his international connections and travels, such a cover was more than effective. "You have so many reasons to be in so many places. And with all the people you know?" This was good. "I like it." Simple. Effective. Executable.
"Ah, a very good point," she picked up her tea again and took in the still warm liquid. "Oh. We'll just have to consume them before it becomes too big of an issue." She grinned. "But really, I think food will be the last thing I need to pack. I'm just wanting to avoid being caught off guard." Especially with the escalating attacks.
A faint flush touched the girl's cheeks again. Merlin. He was going to have to stop doing that. "Well, I did see all the ones at Hogwarts." There was indeed Harry. But besides even her best mate, the team earned her heartfelt respect when they defended her to Draco Malfoy and his cronies. "I'm afraid I haven't caught all the professional games, but I have seen some of them." And they were good. Really good.
She noticed the change in his demeanour almost immediately, and his following question told her why. She sighed to herself, pushing her hair back. "I don't know. We haven't exactly decided. But I think we have time. There is still Bill and Fleur's wedding and routes to complete. So much to do."
"Thanks." Oliver smiled and released a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. "It's like therapy, too. It helps getting a grip on...you know, on losing dad. Focusing my anger and stuff on something productive." Which didn't mean that Oliver hadn't spent the past days sobbing into his pillow. And it didn't mean that he wouldn't continue doing so until exhaustion lulled him into an uneasy sleep. Better find ways to distract himself, to fight the very thing that had taken his beloved father from him, and then crash into bed already too exhausted to ponder the loss too deeply.
"Promise me not to get caught." Oliver said, his voice a little hollow. "Just be careful as I know you will be and...well." His shoulders slumped and he gave Hermione an unhappy look. "I just don't want to lose a friend before I got the chance to know her better." He smiled sadly at Hermione, wondering idly just what about her made him open up like this. Perhaps he should have been warned. From what he'd been told she had the same effect on Harry and Ron. At least that's what the gossip said.
"Do you even like Quidditch?" Oliver asked in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I mean, you sure seemed enthusiastic about cheering us on – which I fully appreciate by the way – but you never striked me as a fan of the game. Just of the players." He smirked, cheering up a little at the thought there were still some good things in life. Like Bill and Fleur getting married.
"We'll be seeing each other at Bill and Fleur's wedding then, I suspect. And of course you can call me whenever you need..." Oliver trailed off. What could she possibly need? It sure looked like Hermione had a firm grip on everything. "You can call me." Oliver corrected himself, hoping to keep the pleading tone out of his voice for fact was that right now he needed to be needed. To get the feeling he was part of something and to make his dad proud somehow.
"You don't have to thank me. It was your plan," she smiled. She just gave her own 'Hermione-stamp' for whatever it might be worth. On the topic of his dad and his only too recent loss, Hermione's smile faded. She could imagine how he felt. Sadness. Anger. Loss. So many things beyond and inbetween. She felt for him. "There must be so much going on inside your head right now...." She nodded in understanding and lifted a hand to his arm. "I can't think of anything more you could do to honour your father's memory." To turn such a tragedy into such an action said a lot.
She smiled and was on the verge of making a joke or saying some other cheeky remark, but there was something in Oliver's voice the stopped her. And his body language brought the girl to own usual seriousness. "Oliver, I have absolutely no intention of failing in this." Ever. "If I got caught, then something horribly went wrong and I -- " She didn't want to consider the alternative. "In any case, you can hardly be expected to take me on a date if I'm put away in some Death Eater's dungeon, and I -- " She paused, pushing past the sudden awkwardness she felt. " -- I'm rather looking forward to it."
His next question seemed to bring them back to a subject she knew perhaps made him feel a little better, or perhaps more in his element. "I don't...dislike Quidditch," she supplied in diplomatic fashion. She certainly didn't hold nearly the same obsession as her best mates, but Oliver had certainly found her out. "Alright, if it weren't for Harry I probably would've snuck out to the library or read by the lake rather than gone to all the games." She pushed on quickly, lest he get the wrong impression however. "But that doesn't mean I didn't have fun. I mean, it was rather exciting. And I have come appreciate the amount of discipline that goes into such a sport."
Still, she nodded with a smile, "I hope so." And she found she meant that even more than had thought. "I will call," she promised. "Whenever I need." But then dark eyes looked at him squarely, "And you must promise to do the same? I'll likely be settling in at the Burrow, but there is so much going on there, I may stay elsewhere for the time being. But you can always reach me by owl. Even if it's just to talk." Hermione couldn't be entirely sure her visit helped, but he certainly seemed a little better to her eyes. She didn't expect miraculous improvements, not after what he'd been through. But every little step counted. "And, I'm sure I've imposed on your time plenty for one afternoon." She moved to stand, if reluctantly.
"Thanks. I hope he somehow knows what I'm doing and eggs me on." Oliver said and to his surprise found his voice hoarse with emotion. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and put down his tea cup, mirroring Hermione's movement and stood up.
"It was very nice of you to come and...oh, bugger this." He shook his head at his own clumsy attempts to wrap his worry and gratitude into somehow coherent words. "Come here."
With those words Oliver pulled Hermione into a big hug, hoping that he didn't squish her into an awkward position like pressing her ear uncomfortably against his chest or something like that.
"You take care of yourself, Granger." He told the chocolatey brown mass of hair on her head. "Don't think about getting caught and now I'll let you go before I embarrass myself further." He gave Hermione a final squeeze, then stepped back to give her room to breathe.
"I'll see you at the wedding at the latest."
"I'm sure he does," she said, certain. Sometimes it was hard for Hermione to convey how she felt. She either ended up saying way too much to explain herself or simply couldn't put how she felt into words. Usually it was the latter. But she found no such difficulty now as she offered what comfort she could.
It was perfect timing that Oliver reached out to pull her into a hug and only awkward because Hermione was actually reaching to do much the same as she heard the tenor of his voice. She didn't think the Keeper knew his own strength because initially it was a little hard to breathe. But she didn't pull away even as she wondered if she really should go right then. Still, she knew he'd be okay.
Hermione wrapped her arms about his waist, smiling as she returned the hug. She wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest even with her ear glued to his shirt. And when she pulled back a little, she smiled. "You too, Wood."
When he did release her, she tilted her head as she looked at him, snorting lightly as he mentioned embarrassing himself. "Don't be silly." She squeezed his hand once more and then walked to the door. "And I promise." A Gryffindor certainly didn't make such promises frivolously.