Oliver Wood Imagines

I Know Now (You're Scared of Flying)

Your shaky hands took up your broom. Frightfully sitting on the sturdy stick of wood you moved at an incredibly slow pace. Yes, you were a Gryffindor, courageous and daring, with an irrational fear of heights. This made flying a challenge.

You needed to go faster.
If you were to get the attention of a certain Quidditch Captain, you had to at least not look terrified every time you were on a broom.

You and Oliver were good friends. Helping each other out in charms class and sitting near each other at meals made it hard for you not to stare at him. You knew him well, but everyone who had at least one conversation with him knew where his dedication lied. He loved Quidditch. It was nearly all he talked about.

Back to your current state. It started to rain lightly on the dark cloudy field.

"Give it a few minutes, it'll lighten up," you assured yourself out loud in a shaky tone, "I want just a bit more practice."

You flew around the field slowly for a while before you noticed your broom was hard to handle. The wood became slippery and you became, (if even possible,) more frightened.

You attempted to lower down slowly, too slowly apparently. A large gust of wind hurled towards you. You slipped off your broom and plummeted 20 something feet to the grass below.

Lying there a while you gradually regained the ability to breathe. Your body ached. You felt alright, correction, your body wasn't fatally hurt. Your heart was racing. Your mind was at a loss for words.

You attempted to shrug it off as you hobbled back to your common room after putting your broom away, being careful to watch out for any faculty. There were no broken bones thankfully, (you think) but you were still sore.

Every step you took felt like it was the last you would ever take. Your legs could barely support you. When you had finally made it back to the Gryffindor common room window, (avoiding the portrait entrance.) You were somehow able to climb through without groaning in pain. You were surprised to see someone sitting in there, eyes locked on you. It was Oliver.

Oh, what luck.

In his Gryffindor symbol sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, he was reading a book, likely about Quidditch. He was on one of the couches in the corner of the room with his knees tucked under him.

The two of you made long and slightly awkward eye contact.

You cursed yourself for trembling, maybe from the cold, maybe from the adrenaline or maybe from your crush staring at you.

"Now where on earth could you have possibly gone at this hour?" Oliver asked in his beautiful Scottish accent that honestly would have made you melt if you weren't so busy trying to recover your ability to form words.

"J..just out..." you stuttered. Your heart was still racing and your breath still hadn't caught up to you yet.

He slid off the couch and picked up a blanket. Quickly but not urgently making his way to you he offered you the blanket.

"Cold, love?"

You nodded and you continued to fight for a single deep breath.

Oliver's brow furrowed as he watched your shaking hands struggle to unfold the blanket.

"So, how'd you end up wet, cold and out of breath climbing in the window after lights out?" He asked as he draped the blanket around you himself.

You wouldn't dare say the truth. He would laugh.

"I want..ed to see the sta..rs."

He tilted his head to look out the window.
"It's cloudy."

You looked to the ground shame.