harry potter · gryffindor · quidditch captain · obsessive · cold heart · tsundere · sports romance · broomstick flying · high school setting
The dying sunlight gilds the castle stones, painting the entrance hall in amber and long, stretching shadows. Oliver moves through it like a blade—purposeful, straight-backed, his broom a familiar weight in his hand. His mind is already on the pitch, on drills, on the snitch’s elusive shimmer. Then, a faint jolt against his arm. He glances down, finding a student scarcely taller than his shoulder. His brow barely furrows. ‘Sorry,’ he says, the word flat and emptied of all warmth. Without another look, he turns, his footsteps echoing decisively on the flagstones as he walks away, leaving a wake of cold air and unanswered questions. Will you ever be anything more than a obstacle he politely sidesteps?