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mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years

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Raising the Stakes — Oliver Wood x reader

***not my GIF***

Summary: you are the newly appointed Slytherin captain, ambitious to win at least one match after your two previous losses. But when the stakes are raised, you seem to be playing for more than just to clear your name as a “failed” captain.

Word Count: ~3.4K

A/N: OH MY GOSH! I’m so sorry, I know I “announced” that I would be writing my first fic a while ago, but to be honest, I was so overwhelmed with everything else that I had to keep putting it off. Anyway, this fic is super duper long, because I totally got carried away while writing, I’m so sorry! It’s a lengthy one, but if you give this a read, I’d be so grateful! Feedback is more than welcome, as I’ve never really done this before. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!! :)

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The day before a Quidditch game was always tough for you. And, rightfully so, seeing as the pressure that was put on you every single time was incredibly overwhelming. See, this year was not a good year for Slytherins when it came to Quidditch. When Marcus Flint was temporarily suspended from his position as Quidditch Captain due to very distasteful, (what many would refer to as... foul) play, they needed someone who could fill his shoes, and fast.

You just had to be the one who got the short end of the stick.

Being Quidditch Captain came with many benefits, of course -- anyone could see that. You were able to order around everyone on the team, especially the people who you didn’t get along with too well, decide the times for practices to fit your schedule best and if the match resulted in a victory, get all the credit for the marvellous match.

Except every seemingly perfect thing has its flaws, after all. Flint’s shoes as Captain were hard to fill. Many people at Hogwarts may tell you that he is the most disgusting, obnoxious, and arrogant person around… and they wouldn’t be wrong. But what many people cleverly omit is that he is a brilliant Quidditch player -- when he doesn’t resort to cheating. The Slytherin Quidditch team, under his strong guidance, was practically unbeatable. They were doing better than they’ve done in years. Needless to say, when they won match after match, the team’s thrilling victories were all attributed to the fact that they had someone as masterful and godly as Flint as their Captain.

You, however, had a different approach as Captain. While you weren’t an angel, you certainly weren’t Flint. Your approach to leadership may be considered too laid-back for some, but you never wanted to be as overbearing as Flint.

Unfortunately, this approach wasn’t exactly successful. The Slytherin team had now broken their winning streak, and lost two games ever since you were appointed Captain. Naturally, they blamed these losses on your failed leadership.

The first game that was played with you appointed as the new Slytherin Captain was against Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff had a strong team, their plays were tactful and their brilliant seeker, Cedric, almost always managed to pull through and catch the snitch. However, and one can blame it on the fact that this was because you were simply a Slytherin, you and the rest of your team had severely underestimated the sunshine-coloured team. Call it overconfidence or just sheer misfortune, you and your team had not trained nearly hard enough and the match was over extremely quickly, and all the plays that you had devised, hunched over in the common room, all went to waste.

This was a devastating loss for Slytherin, as it had broken their streak. People whispered about you whenever you walked by them in the halls, spreading gossip and judgement because of your failed leadership.

But true to the verdant-coloured house’s core values, they stayed loyal to you. Many excused your failure by simply taking into account the fact that it was your first match as Captain, after all. The second one will be better… right?

Wrong.

For your second match, you took the opposite approach. You trained hard, and made sure that everyone else trained hard as well.

Oliver, the Gryffindor team’s beloved Captain, took notice of how often the Quidditch team was booked under your name. And he would never give up on an opportunity to tease you.

Oliver and yourself, had a complicated relationship. You were never exactly friends… no, that was definitely not the right word. You two had a few classes together, but barely ever talked off the Quidditch pitch. You thought he was incredibly infuriating with his smug smile plastered on his face 24/7 and his thick Scottish accent. But even you, couldn’t deny that he was attractive. He thought you were… well, this bit was a bit more complicated.

He didn’t like you, but he couldn’t possibly hate you. He had always thought you were incredibly pretty and the way you always raised your hand in class was adorable. He loved how out-spoken you were… that is, until you picked up a Quidditch broom.

You could still remember your first match like it was yesterday. You had done a spectacular job as a chaser, scoring not five but six goals against Oliver. And when the Slytherin seeker finally caught the snitch, your team had consequently won that match. You were ecstatic, meanwhile Oliver had decided that it was his new-found goal to beat you. After the match, he had come up to you and told you that you had played horribly. Taken aback a bit, you gave him no response, but only smiled at him coolly. Your smile perfectly disguised your new-found resentment of the Gryffindor, who instead of congratulating you, had just insulted you.

“Training hard, I see,” he said as he jogged over now, to you one evening after a particularly lengthy training session. You were bent over, trying to properly place all the balls in their rightful places in the box.

You looked up to glance at him before turning your head back downwards, paying no attention to him.

“You know, Ravenclaws aren’t particularly skilled when it comes to Quidditch,” he said casually as he took in how attractive you still looked, even when you were drenched in sweat.

“Thank you for your input, Wood,” you said sarcastically, not even bothering to look up.

“No problem,” he smiled at you smugly as you began to stand up, “I think you can beat them. Good luck.”

“Why would you want me to win?” You questioned with narrowed eyes. This was not like Oliver.

“Because no matter what happens in the match tomorrow,” he drawled as he leaned in slightly, “Gryffindor will still beat you.”

There it was.

You groaned and shoved him lightly and started to walk off. You could hear him chuckling under his breath as he watched your receding figure.

But when it came down to it, in the middle of the match, most of your team had begun to realize that there was no way they were going to come out of this victorious if they followed your plays. Malfoy, ever so resourceful, pulled the rest of the team aside and advised them to completely abandon the plays that you once again had worked hard for and try offensive.

This lack of unity within your team inevitably led to another loss.

And your house was not happy.

___________________

So, here you were, eating your breakfast in the Great Hall with extremely shaky hands. You could not afford to lose the match tomorrow. There was no way you could let that happen. That would surely end your Quidditch career before it even started, and the whispering in the halls would not come to a stop. You tried to run through the Quidditch plays once again in your head, to ensure you had them down for the practice tonight when Malfoy swaggered in and took a seat beside you.

“We better not lose again, [Y/L/N],” he grunted as he reached over to grab the jam, “you’ve failed us enough.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” you snapped at him after rolling your eyes so far back into your head that it hurt a little, “maybe if you played well and followed my plays that I spend HOURS creating, we would do better.”

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath as he took a bite, “Flint was better.”

With a groan you decided that you had had enough food to eat. You felt as though if you ate anymore, you would surely have to rush to the girls’ lavatory and throw up. You stood up and started to head towards the exit of the Great Hall, not having any particular idea what exactly it was that you were heading towards.

All you knew is that you had to win.

____________________

“[Y/L/N],” called two familiar voices from somewhere behind you.

You had been walking, on your way to the common room, to try to have a final look at the Quidditch plays when you heard the seemingly identical voices.

You turned around to see the Weasley twins, with Oliver, standing in the hallway, discussing something hurriedly. Oliver’s back had been turned to you, but it wasn’t hard to recognize his very distinct broad shoulders that Quidditch had blessed him with.

Oliver turned around and met your gaze, before looking back at the twins confusedly.

“Um, yes?” you said, reluctantly as you walked closer to them.

The twins had a toothy grin stuck on their face which, you decided, was not a good sign. This meant that they were up to something. Oliver continued to look between the two twins and, occasionally you, with a dumb-founded look.

“Ready for the match tomorrow?” one of the red-headed twins asked in a teasing matter.

“Yes, actually, I am,” you said rather defensively. You crossed your arms to try to look more intimidating but this clearly failed as the other twin started to snicker.

“You know, Oli here thinks so too,” the other one started to say as he clapped Oliver’s shoulder, “he’s a little scared about tomorrow. Doesn’t think we can beat you.”

You raised your eyebrows at this. Well, this was a new development. You looked at Oliver for confirmation.

“What? N--” he exclaimed at the twins before the twin to his right shushed him and cut him off.

“Georgie and I think it would be rather fun to raise the stakes, don’t you think?” Fred said quickly before Oliver could interrupt him again, “Motivate him a little, perhaps?”

Oliver had gone back to looking lost.

You didn’t say anything to this but George must have picked up some sort interest in your gaze.

“Tell you what, [Y/N], you win tomorrow and Oli boy here,” he says as he claps Oliver’s shoulders again, making him slightly wince in pain, “owes you a favour.”

Oliver opens his mouth to say something but is once again, cut off.

“Anything you want.” Fred said.

“Whenever you want.” George finished.

You opened your mouth to reply but you were unable to find the right words. Of course, you wanted this. You could make Oliver give over all his booked quidditch pitch hours, you could make him carry your books, do your homework---

“Hello?” George said as he jokingly waved a hand in front of your face.

“Uh, yes! I mean, yes. Yes, that sounds good, I guess.” You said as you tuned back into the conversation.

“I--” Oliver started.

“But what if you win?” you ask suddenly as the realization dawns on you. You were not about to add onto your humiliation of losing three consecutive Quidditch matches by becoming Oliver’s personal servant as well.

“Glad you asked, dearest [Y/N],” Fred smirked as if this is exactly what he was waiting for.

“If we win, you and Wood go on a date,” George said with a big smile, “that’s it.”

“A pretty great deal if you ask me,” Fred added in quickly.

Oliver’s expression contorted into absolute shock as his cheeks started to redden the faintest shade of pink. He opened his mouth to yell at the twins but was unable to. Something compelled him to shut up and turn to you, desperate to see what you thought of this. A small part of him hoped that you would agree.

This clever plea presented by the twins had taken you back by surprise, to say the least. On a date? With Oliver? Didn’t he hate you, and you him? You almost wanted to laugh at what a ridiculous idea this was, and you almost did, before you saw that Oliver was watching you with his eyebrows furrowed. Did he want this? Did he not? It seemed pretty harmless, right? Plus, if you declined, wouldn’t that show that you were nervous and unsure about the match?

“Fine. You have a deal.” you said assertively and reached out your hand to shake Oliver’s.

Now, Oliver wasn’t a bright student, but he wasn’t dull either. But at this moment, his brain had completely stopped working as he stared at you, taking in your eyes that twinkled and your perfect lips that looked so soft---

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by Fred’s aggressive approach to bringing his attention back to this conversation; he shoved Oliver, almost causing him to fall over.

“Wha--? Oh, yes. Yes. Date,” he stammered, trying to find the right words, “I mean--, no, not a date. Dea--Deal. Yes.”

He extended out his incredibly sweaty hand to take your noticeably smaller hand in his and gave a firm shake. He smiled at you and you returned it hesitantly before you turned back around to walk away.

What a weird night this has been.

______________________

The match had started nearly ten minutes ago and Oliver had not taken his eyes off you once. It did work in his favour a bit, as you were a chaser, so it didn’t look out of the ordinary at all. But Fred and George caught on quickly and exchanged knowing looks, smirking slightly.

The match, dare you say it, was going extremely well. The other chasers had already scored multiple goals and this offensive-style play was proving to be very effective.

But your head was not in the game. Not at all.

The way that Oliver was flying on his broom, strategically blocking goals and giving a victorious smile each time to the crowd was proving to be particularly distracting. And it may just be your brain playing tricks, but you could’ve sworn you saw him watching you a few times, too.

It was somewhat of a revelation last night. This morning, you saw Oliver in a completely different light. Your mind even tried to convince you that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if your team lost again. You quickly mentally slapped yourself to get rid of this thought. You had to win.

______________

The match went on for a while after, and it came incredibly close to being a victory for Gryffindor.

But it wasn’t.

Many people blamed it on Oliver’s lazy and distracted gameplay, and many on your brilliant one.

You exclaimed loudly and smiled broadly as Malfoy caught the snitch, and the stands erupted into applause and cheer.

You hopped off your broom and went to congratulate Malfoy and your other teammates, all the while the stands clapped and screamed. It sounded like music to your ears. You were so incredibly happy that your hard work had paid off and you had broken the losing streak.

Your smile faltered, however, as you saw how defeated Oliver looked. This was a major bruise to his ego. He was not used to losing. But you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he looked that disappointed because he would be unable to go on that date. If you were being honest, part of you was also disappointed for the same reason.

_________________

You were sat in the library, trying to focus on your Charms homework but that was proving to be quite… impossible.

Oliver was sat two tables ahead of you, and while his back was turned, you still felt yourself feeling a little flustered.

You had been gazing shyly at the back of Oliver’s head when a sudden tap to your shoulder scared you half to death.

“Hellooo [Y/L/N],” said the slightly taller twin, which you now were able to tell was Fred.

“For Merlin’s sake,” you exclaimed with hand to your chest, “you can’t scare me like that, Fred!” You whirled around to see Fred standing behind you with his infectious smile on his face and George, standing beside him in an identical manner.

“Sorry.”

“What do you want?” You questioned dryly, picking your quill back up again, pretending to get invested in work.

“Congratulations on your win, [Y/L/N],” George said pleasantly as he patted your shoulder, “you played well. It's a shame though, isn’t it, Freddie?”

“Yes, it really is, Georgie.” Fred said, crossing his arms, faking sadness.

You turned around to face them, your eyebrows furrowed, “What? What is?”

“Oh, just Oliver,” George sighed.

“What about him?”

“You know, after the match…” Fred added.

“What?” you said again, curiously. You desperately wanted to know. What were they talking about? Was Oliver alright? Was he mad at you?

“Oh, you know…” George sighed, again, faking disappointment.

“Fred, George, will you please just get on with it?”

“Well, y’know,” Fred said but stopped again.

“Merlin’s beard, you two are infuriating!” you whisper-shouted, “what is it?!”

“Hmm, you seem to care about Oli boy a lot,” George said thoughtfully, with a hand to his chin, “I wonder why that is, eh?”

“Please just get to the point,” you huffed, annoyed at yourself for feeling butterflies at the mention of this ridiculous idea. You were glad your hair was covering your cheeks or else they would surely be able to see you blushing.

“He’s quite disappointed he wasn’t able to go on that date with you,” Fred said smugly, “He was crying about it.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, turning back to your work. They were only pulling your leg, you could tell.

“Ok, ok, maybe he wasn’t crying,” Fred rushed to tell you, “but he might as well have been.”

“Yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes.

“We aren’t lying, you know,” George rushed to Fred’s aid, “why would we ever do that?”

You snorted quietly under your breath.

“Alright, alright, all jokes aside, we saw you staring at him,” Fred told you, as he sat down beside you, “it’s obvious you like him.”

“And, it must be your lucky day, because he likes you too,” George added, taking a seat on your other side.

“So just ask him out.”

“It’s as simple as that.”

“We’re bloody geniuses, Georgie.”

“We bloody are, aren’t we?”

You were watching this scene unfold in absolute horror. Your cheeks were as red as a tomato and your stomach had dropped. People knew? They knew you liked him? Did you even like him? Did he even like you?

“I don’t know what you two are talking about,” you started, trying to compose the storm raging within you, “I don’t like him, you two are mad.”

“You have a favour, lying around in case you forgot,” George said, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “use it.”

The truth was, you had forgotten. You did have a favour overdue. The excitement of the win had made you forget that you could make Oliver do whatever you wanted.

“I will not do that! Are you two insane?” you exclaimed again. This idea was mad.

“Come on,” Fred whined, “it’s not like he can reject you. Which, if you ask me, he wouldn’t do anyway because he’s so bloody in love with you.”

“No! Absolutely not. There is a reason I’m not a Gryffindor, you know.” you protested.

“Hey! Oliver! Wood!” George shouted, much to Madame Pince’s dismay. She gave him a mean look and carried on reading. You looked at him in shock and harshly whacked him in the shoulder, to which he responded by snickering. What was he doing?

Oliver turned around and looked at you three before furrowing his eyebrows again. He got up from his spot and walked over to your table, while you gave George a murderous look.

“Hi.” he said, quietly, looking only at you.

“Hi,” you muttered back, a little breathless. Merlin, why were you behaving like this? You hated it.

“[Y/N] here, has something to say,” Fred said suggestively, as he stood up from his seat.

“Have fun, you two,” George said as he, too, stood up and walked away with Fred, leaving you and Oliver feeling incredibly awkward.

“So…” he tried to say casually but he was much too nervous to be in your presence.

“Uhh, I--, I wanted to call in that favour you owe me,” you said, thinking quickly before this becomes even more weird.

“Right,” he said gloomily, once again reminded of his loss.

“I…” unable to think of anything, you uttered the first things that came into your head as you glanced down at your incomplete homework, “I need you to tutor me.”

“Tutor you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“At the Three Broomsticks.” you added, not really sure why.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” he nodded, looking a little surprised at your odd request.

Before you knew it, you were uttering the three words of confirmation that made both of your hearts leap simultaneously, “It’s a date.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to say. A date? You cringed at yourself for even thinking of saying that.

“A date?” he asked, still surprised, but his tone suggested it was pleasant surprise more than anything.

“Uh, yes.”

“Alright.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at 11? Next Saturday?” his heart was beating a hundred times per second but it was evident that the Gryffindor courage had kicked in.

“Yes. I’d like that,” you managed to get out.

“Alright, it’s a date.”

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