Oliver Wood is stubborn, confident, and brave... or at least that's the façade he wishes to show. Lying is easy for Oliver, but living is harder when a white-haired girl crashes into him by chance. It's too bad she's the younger sister of his quiddi...
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Adrenaline seeped across the main hall as students arrived punctually, grated by a cacophony of jitters that swelled from their bellies to their toes. Everyone was excited for the sorting ceremony.
Ravenclaws: House of Eagle, enter first. They locate their table in controlled group that moved like cattle. They held novels to their chests rather than jingling bells. Hufflepuffs: House of Badger, followed. They skipped to their table with an air of buzzing brilliance, school robes resembling a rabble of honeybees, though their signature gleaming smiles compared better to a golden retriever. Mr Filch scowled imperceptibly, "grotesque children".
Next, Slytherin: House of Serpent. They waded across the hall with the same pure stealth as always, a snake through tall grass, an eel through the black lake, a darkness through the night. Gryffindors: House of Lion, announce themselves with proud grins that stretch to their ears.
At the front of the group was Oliver Wood; some students turned with interest as he walked past, others glowered. He paid no notice. He was used to the attention. Good or bad. Instead, his brown eyes scanned the triptych of houses for white hair and fair skin. His veined hand twitched at his side. His strong jaw jutted forward with frustration. She isn't here.
Following beside him, George and Fred Weasley wore oblivious smirks that curled crooked like the spine of a Sorting Hat. They, although having told the joke themselves, were hunching over with giggles and snorts (George, after said snort, turned freakishly red). Angelina and Katie were on the left, filing themselves arm-in-arm next to Fred, sharing knowing looks to each other before entertaining the terrible Weasley jokes with practiced competence.
"If a wizard gets robbed by a muggle, has he been muggled?" Fred posed to the group. Angelina cringed from beside him, nose wrinkling she tilts her head sideways and interrogates, "I thought you were supposed to be the funny one, no?"
Katie barks out a laugh and George suddenly becomes elated, puffing out his chest with pride. He was glad he didn't say that joke first.
Fred deflated, "Hey! I'm a comedian and you know it, Angie" he teases, swinging his arm around her shoulder and continuing on to the long, dark oak table. George watched silently.
The group reach their table, and shuffle into their seats; accordingly, Oliver is in the middle. His uniform billows around him causing him to wiggle and shuffle in his seat until the fabric fans out. He rests his chin to his upturned palm, having not listened to a single word that has been said. The others talk around him, yet he remains uncharacteristically quiet. Or perhaps it is characteristic of him, but the silence he holds now has never been so deafening to him till today. His mind whirs, stirring in the messy bowl of his brain as he tried to orientate why his tummy felt fuzzy. He bottled it up, watering the feeling down to curiosity. Why wouldn't he be curious about her, a girl who slips through his fingers so easily.
