wl_mods (![]() ![]() @ 2009-02-20 02:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, hermione, oliver |
Special delivery for myownmuggle
Title: A Simple Dance
Author: sdk
Recipient's IJ/LJ name: myownmuggle
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Oliver/Hermione (with a passing mention of Ron/Luna.)
Word Count: 4,044 words
Warnings: Non-linear, Not Epilogue complaint
Summary: Oliver Wood shows up when Hermione is trying her best to forget him.
Authors notes: Special thanks to my betas who shall remain nameless. myownmuggle, I had a lot of fun with your requests and I hope you enjoy this!
It started at Ron's wedding of all places.
Hermione knew him from school, of course; he was Gryffindor Quidditch Captain for Harry's first three years on the team, and she remembered seeing him at the World Cup, and later on that terrible day fighting at Hogwarts, but really, she never gave Oliver Wood much thought until the night Ron and Luna exchanged their vows.
And now, two weeks later, he was constantly on her mind.
Hermione rationalised those thoughts away endlessly. She'd had too much to drink at the wedding--her ex-boyfriend's wedding--and she'd only been feeling lonely. She'd never have behaved so impulsively otherwise. And it was obvious that Oliver wasn't remotely interested because wizarding communication was not that difficult. One didn't need a telephone number or an address, only an owl and a name. The lack of an owl bearing his signature was a clear sign.
A sign which didn't matter, because Hermione was not remotely interested either.
She reassured herself of this fact once more as she stepped out of the Ministry's lift straight into an armful of brooms.
"Oh!" Her briefcase slipped from her fingers, spilling parchment over the floor.
"I'm sorry." The voice came from behind lopsided broomsticks, and Hermione waved him off and knelt to collect her stray papers.
"No, it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention." A quick glance at the walls plastered with Quidditch posters confirmed she wasn't even on the correct floor, but before she had a chance to chastise herself, that same glance revealed the concerned brown eyes of the man she'd collided with. The man who was the reason she was distracted in the first place.
"Oliver…what are you doing here?"
He smiled and Hermione looked away, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. She was just surprised to see him, that was all.
"Dropping off some broom designs for approval." He hoisted his brooms onto a nearby desk, then squatted down next to her, and despite her protests, helped gather her scattered parchment. His fingers brushed hers for only an instant, but it was long enough to hurdle Hermione straight into the memory of those same fingers along her jaw.
~
Hermione's mind is swimming with whisky. She never drinks whisky--it's perfectly revolting--but tonight she's glad she didn't pass on George's special wedding punch because it gives her the perfect excuse to hang onto Oliver's neck as they dance.
Oliver traces the line of her jaw with his thumb.
"You're drunk," he says and she shakes her head vigorously, though that turns out to be a mistake because now she's dizzy. Only it's another good reason to press closer--just so she doesn't fall.
"No, I'm not."
"Well, I am." Oliver's brown hair is clipped short like he used to wear it in school, but it's long enough to run her fingers through. She wonders how she ever resisted before. "You're really beautiful, Hermione."
A bubble of laughter escapes before Hermione can squash it. She shouldn't find it so funny, but with Oliver's sputtered "What?" and his eyes colouring with confusion, her laughter only grows.
"You said you were drunk. Can't trust your judgement."
"I didn't mean…I promise, I thought you were before the punch, too. Really, I did-"
"Oh, Oliver." And without a thought, Hermione kisses him.
~
"I think that's all of it."
"Oh, yes…yes." Hermione scanned the floor just to make sure, then slid the stack of parchment back into her briefcase as they both stood. "Well, I should be off."
Hermione turned to escape back into the lift, praying that Oliver's business with the Department of Magical Games and Sports wasn't already concluded, but he called for her to hold the doors. Despite how she wished to let the lift close, she'd be hard-pressed to pretend she hadn't heard him, and reluctantly she stuck her briefcase between the sliding doors. They dinged back open revealing Oliver's boyish smile, reminiscent of his days at Hogwarts.
"Thanks," he said, moving to her side in the lift.
A boyish smile, reminiscent of his Hogwarts days--what was she thinking? Hermione hadn't paid a whit of attention to him back then, and she wouldn't be now, either, had it not been for…a simple lapse in judgement. That was the best way to think of it.
"I should have asked--this lift is going down?"
Hermione nodded. "The Atrium."
"Oh."
"That's not where you need to go? Should I request another floor?"
"Oh no, I'm going to the Atrium."
The lift whirled to life. Hermione only had to survive the ride for one level, and that shouldn't be too hard. Yes, it was awkward, but as long as she focused on the lift doors ahead of her and not her present company, she would be fine.
"I've been meaning to…I'm glad we ran into each other because I've been wanting to-"
Hermione broke her rule and glanced at Oliver. He looked nervous, shifting his weight, tapping his fingers against the handle of a broom.
"It's not necessary. I'm a big girl, Oliver. There's no need to soften the blow."
"Sorry, what?"
The lift doors dinged open once more, and Hermione had never been more grateful to see the hallway leading to the Atrium in her life. Just a few short paces and she'd be lost amongst the throng heading for the exit floos, far away from whatever pitiful excuse Oliver had contrived to explain why he wasn't interested in her 'like that.'
"Hermione, wait!"
Hermione ignored Oliver's footfalls behind her as she strode toward the security gates.
"I just wanted to ask-"
Hermione flashed her Ministry badge to the guard, and he nodded her through. If only those bloody gates would hurry up and open.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"What?" Hermione turned in her tracks and found Oliver shifting his brooms; it seemed they were about to fall in his haste to keep up with her pace. His cheeks were flushed and there was a small tuft of brown hair sticking up at the crown of his head; her fingers itched to smooth it down.
~
"How can your hair be so short and yet so messy," she says, scrunching her fingers through Oliver's fringe.
"You're the one messing it up." His laughter is as warm as his hands on her waist. They aren't so much dancing now as swaying to the music; Hermione's not even sure if the music still plays, but as they turn, she sees Ron and Luna and a few other couples dancing in the Burrow's garden.
"It was already mussed." Her hands drop to his neck and she fiddles with the sparse hair that fades to a vee at his nape. "Probably from Quidditch--I saw you playing when I arrived."
"Not for long. Mrs. Weasley chased us off our brooms. She was on a tear."
"I remember. 'Don't you lot know there's a wedding tonight?'"
"She looked much more menacing than you."
"I can look menacing," she says, though she can't stop smiling. Maybe it's only George's punch, but she thinks it has more to do with her dance partner.
"I don't believe you." His hands slide around her back; the heat of his palms burns through her gown. When his fingers curl at the base of her spine, her breath hitches.
"Luckily for you, I don't feel like proving you wrong." Their first kiss was only the briefest touch of their lips, but she still feels the ghost of that touch now. Hermione decides that it's not enough. "But I can, if you insist. Or I can kiss you again."
~
"Would you like to have dinner with me?
"I heard you perfectly well the first time." Hermione wanted to cross her arms over her chest, but her briefcase weighed down her arm. That would only seem defensive anyway, and Hermione was anything but defensive. She was just…caught-off guard.
"You said…so I thought-"
"I'm aware of what I said."
One of Oliver's brooms began to slip, and she called out a warning, but with a wince, he caught it, then shifted his hold once more. "These are a bit cumbersome."
Hermione held back a snort. She hadn't forced him to chase her down the hallway with an armful of brooms.
"I'm busy tonight."
"All right, what about tomorrow? Friday? Or you name the day--anytime."
"Oliver-"
"Wood! There you are!" Ludo Bagman strode out from the hallway and clasped Oliver's shoulder. Oliver nearly lost his grip on the brooms again. "We've been waiting for you upstairs. Did you get lost?"
Ludo was dressed in proper robes, but whenever Hermione saw him, she couldn't help but picture him strutting around in his old Wasps uniform, his stomach threatening to burst through the seams. He still pulled out his faithful yellow and black for every special Ministry function, eager to relive his glory days.
Honestly, Quidditch types were all the same. Oliver probably still had his Puddlemere robes, too, and pranced about in them when he was home alone.
Though Oliver more likely still looked quite fit in his uniform. Perhaps she could find a picture in the Daily Prophet archives--she was fairly certain they'd won some sort of division something-or-other while Oliver was still on the team. The Prophet must have covered it--not that it mattered, really. She didn't have time to go digging around old newspapers for a glimpse of Oliver in his Quidditch gear, and she didn't want to, besides.
"No, I was just…if you'll give me a moment, Hermione and I were-"
"It's fine. It was nice to see you again, Oliver. Ludo." She gave them each a nod and walked through the gates, queuing up for the exit floo furthest away from the security gates, and vehemently not searching for a memory of Oliver in Gryffindor's finest.
It was only an hour after Hermione arrived home that an owl fluttered to her window.
If not dinner, how about coffee?
- Oliver
Coffee, the Woolly Wand, 6pm sharp.
-Hermione