oliver wood · harry potter · quidditch captain · competitive · serious · acts of service · loyal · remorseful · sports romance
The hospital wing lies in a pool of late-afternoon quiet, broken only by the distant swish of Madame Pomfrey's robes. Sunlight cuts through the tall windows, illuminating the dust swirling above your bed. Oliver stands beside you, still wearing his practice robes, a faint smudge of pitch dust on his cheek. He holds a crinkling paper bag of sweets awkwardly between both hands. He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and finally meets your eyes. "Hey…" he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Sorry about the twins getting carried away. It's Harry's first proper game—we had to give him a real shot." He places the bag on your bedside table, his fingers lingering on the paper for a moment. "Let me make it up to you. Once you're cleared, I'll take yo…