From Now, To Forever, To Eternity ~ An Oliver Wood Love Story ~ Chapter One
Chapter 1 : From Now, To Forever, To Eternity ~ An Oliver Wood Love Story ~ Chapter One
Okay. For starters, I'm not as obsessed you probably think I am. I wrote this ages ago with the help of cutelilchicken. Thanks! I hope you enjoy it. BTW, I would like comments and contructive critisism! Thank you. EoB
Dear Teddy,
I HATE THAT IDIOT ‘OLLIE’ WOOD! He’s so up himself. He’s not even that brilliant at Quidditch! How the HELL could so many people be so bloody dim-sighted? Out of all the people I have seen, he is the most immature, ugly, hopelessly arrogant asshole!
You paused and looked up distastefully. Oliver Wood stood with a vague expression on his face, staring into the fire. He seemed undisturbed until a large group of girls with excessively short skirts and tarty make-up walking through the Common Room, said, “Hi, Ollie,” before running away giggling with much naivety, out the portrait hole.
You rolled your eyes, and then glanced quickly at Oliver, who had done the same as you were doing now, but in the direction of the girls, before dragging them back down to your diary. But you were clueless as to what to write next. For some reason, your anger had evaporated from looking at him. It was as if for a lonely moment, you felt detached from the world. In a horrible way it felt right, or perhaps it was only because it was the habit of being forlorn almost all your life. You sighed and thought it was probably the butterbeer, gurgling away inside you, sending your emotions off like fireworks, but not in a good way.
You searched your hand around aimlessly looking for your quill. It seemed to have disappeared. You eventually gave up, even though if you were less sleepy you would have seen it was right in front of your feet. You stood up, stretched and gathered your things into your bag then headed to bed.
~Oliver’s POV~
I saw a girl go up to bed leaving behind her quill. I think she was in the year below me. Boy, was she a sight. She seems rather quiet compared to every girl I had met, but also very bitter. I walked over and picked it up. It had Amity-Joy Curtis written in gold on the side. I put in my pocket intending to return it tomorrow.
~Next Saturday, Your POV~
It was a Hogsmead weekend. Oh joy. They always irritated you. Your family would not let you go because it was TOO DANGEROUS. But it was not all bad for it gave you time to think.
You made your way to the Quidditch Field, with a school broomstick in your hand. Before having a second thought, you unleashed the bludger and held a bat in your hand. You swiftly mounted the broomstick and felt it lift into the air. Your stomach went to your throat and the wonderful sensation of hitting something as hard as you possibly can, sending it over towards the castle, almost breaking a window, felt wonderful.
~Oliver’s POV~
I was sitting in the Common Room finishing an essay for Professor Snape when a bludger came within a millimeter of the window before stopping and flying back. I leapt up and dashed towards the pitch in amazement. Not even Fred or George could hit a bludger that far!
As I neared the pitch I slowed, creeping up into the stands. The girl I had seen in the Common Room recently was mounted on a Comet 260 hitting the bludgers in every direction. I was astonished at her strength and anger. It was almost as if she was imagining her worst enemies face on each bludger.
~Back To You~
“Stupid…Oliver…” you said, hitting each bludger while imagining his face on it. A strange feeling that someone was watching you came across you, but you were too pissed off to care.
~Next Monday~
You made your way through the corridors. You got pushed around a lot, as over ten people were supposed to fit across. But, daydreaming just as usual, you did not seem to notice. It was not until you burst out of the crowd and cascaded backwards from hitting some…thing in front of you.
~Oliver’s POV~
Something hard knocked into me. I stumbled back and landed on my back. I looked up, angry words on my lips. When I saw who it was they died away.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, crawling over to her and helping gather her things. I got to my knees and extending my hand to the girl. She flinched as I did so and gave me a funny look.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine.” She said, starting to get the rest of her things. I wanted to help so I went to pick up the quills, which were strewn across the floor. But when I saw a name written on them all, I paused. I pulled out the quill I had found the night before. They both had Amity-Joy Curtis written on them.
“Oh, is this yours? You left it in the Common Room the other day.” I said handing it to her.
“Oh. Thanks.” She had a funny expression on her face, like she didn’t realize what had happened.
“Um…” I was unsure what to say next. “C-can I help you with anything else?”
“No, I am just fine, thank you,” she said, not meeting her eyes.
I frowned. “No, really, I must insist. It was my fault I knocked you over, I should’ve been watching where I was going, instead of waving goodbye to my friends.” He looked at you with those innocent eyes that every girl in the school would normally faint over.
“No,” she said bluntly.
I stopped in shock. This had not happened to me before. “What?”
“No,” she repeated solemnly.
Surprised, but all the more enticed, I sighed. “I see. You’re a stubborn little dog, aren’t you? Right. Well, this calls for one thing.” I flicked my wand and she was under a curse so her body could not move.
She did not complain, or say anything for that matter, which confused me. She was not at all anything she seemed to be. I took the two of us down to the Common Room and sat her down on the comfiest chair in the room. I sat her things on a table and magically moved one of the chairs so it was facing opposite her. Her expression seemed undecided.
~Back To You~
Anger boiled away inside of you. What was wrong with him? Can’t he see you do not like this? You then frown. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you,” he replied cheerfully.
“Fine then. Talk.” She wished she could belt him down to the ground with a cement pole.
He paused. “Guess what I saw yesterday.”
“Should I care?” she asked pleasantly.
“A young girl, about fifteen, over at the Quidditch Field on a Comet 260, sending bludgers out so hard that that almost shattered the Griffindor Common Room window. It’s funny, cause she looks a lot like you.”
Your hard eyes soften as he talked. You sigh. “Can you unbind me?”
He did so easily.
Though you have a chance to run out of the room and escape, you stay put. You do not know why. It seems extremely unlike you to do something like this.
Neither of you say anything for a matter of minutes. They seem to drag on but it is just that you cannot think of anything to say.
“I never knew anyone could be so good at Quidditch,” he said suddenly.
“I’m not that brilliant,” you mutter.
He looks at you. “I got asked to sign up to one of the teams that play in the Quidditch World Cup. I have met the players. You are almost just as good as them, definitely better than me, and you haven’t even done your OWLS yet!”
“Look, I don’t play Quidditch,” she said angrily. “I…” you sighed, frustrated. “Well, I just don’t.”
“What?” he asked in shock. “So you don’t practice? You don’t get taught, or anything at all?”
“I haven’t hit a bludger since I was eight years old,” you said.
He laughed while saying, “I bet you must of put someone in St. Mungo’s.”
You looked at him with an ashen look on her face, the fire flickering madly on your face.
Realizing, he looked down at the ground in shame. “Sorry.”
“If I knew you were there, I would have stopped, as much as I would have enjoyed seeing you lying unconscious in a hospital bed,” you told him bluntly.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
“You’re so up yourself. How the HELL could so many people be so bloody dim-sighted? Out of all the people I have seen, you are the most immature, hopelessly arrogant asshole!” you said savagely. “Really, I don’t see how you are so popular.”
He laughed. “As much as you’re a bitch, I can’t help but like you.”
“What?” you asked shocked.
“You tell the truth,” he said. “No one has ever said that about me before. Especially a girl. It’s so annoying. They’re always like, ‘Hi, Ollie!’ and, ‘What’s up, Ollie?’.”
“You like it though,” you replied.
He raised an eyebrow. “You honestly think that?”
“Of course,” you said. “Every times they say it, you look over at them and smile, or just look over your shoulder to see if they’re still looking at you, which they normally are.”
“You honestly think that?” he said, sounding not the slightest bit insulted.
“What, does your eyes accidentally fall down to see how short their skirts are?” you asked him.
“How many girls have I gone out with, Amity?” he asked.
“Lost count, have you? And how do you know my name?” you frowned.
He picked up her quill, showing her name written in gold on the side. “I have never been out with a girl before.”
Your mouth opened and closed over the next fair few moments, until you said, “What!”
“Believe it or not,” he said plainly.
“I don’t believe it… How, exactly, have you managed to not go out with a girl?” you asked, interested.
“I was waiting for the right girl to come along,” he said. “Plus, all the girls that ask me out are tarty dogs.”
“That’s nice of you,” you said, “however, true.”
“Not to mention, can you imagine how many bitch fights there would be throughout the school if I chose one girl to be with?” he asked her.
“To tell you the truth, I would probably sit and laugh at them all while you and Miss Perfect sit but the fire making out,” you laughed.
His reaction was suddenly shocked and frozen.
You looked at him, confused. “What?”
“You…just smiled,” he said.
“Yeah?” you said. “So?”
“Well…” he cleared his throat, “…I’ve never seen you smile before. It just took me off guard…”
You paused. “You need a hobby. It’s not that big a deal. It’s only a smile.”
“Yeah, but…” he stopped as a horde of girls ran in through the portrait hole, giggling at the sight of him. They all went and sat by the window, sneaking glances at him often.
“You can stop looking now,” you said suddenly.
“I’m contemplating whether to ask them if their skirts are short enough,” he said.
There was a large amount of sudden giggling as the leader of the tarty girls striped off her jumper and showed her tanned skin. She sat down lightly on the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Remember me?” she said, brushing her eyelashes against his cheek.
“Vividly,” he said distastefully.
Angered by his reply, she tried more and more to entice him, but it did not seem to work.
Oliver sighed and took hold of her arms and pushed them away. “Look, I’m really not interested.”
“Sure you are,” she said. She caught sight of you as you worked on an essay. “Who are you?”
You look up. “Sorry?”
“Aren’t you that loner with no fashion sense and who has never had a boyfriend?”
She said it so nastily that certain words came to your head that would make this little slut cry. You tried to bite your tongue.
“It’s Amity-Joy,” you replied. “I know who you are.”
“Really? Who am I?” she asked, smiling sweetly, although with fakery.
“You’re that slut who gets every boy she wants, without even knowing them, meanwhile cheating on them with someone else, before dumping them because they didn’t buy you a present over two hundred gallons for your one-week anniversary, then wonders why everyone hates you and guys won’t go out with you anymore.”
Fury played all over her face, and it only increased when Oliver laughed out loud, even after the whole group was out of the portrait hole.
“That was really good,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m starting only now to see just how much there is still to learn about you.” He gave another chuckle. “I am so glad I made you come in here, otherwise I don’t think I would have ever seen that look on her in this lifetime.” He looked at her to see if you were laughing, but your face was quite drawn. He sighed. “Are you upset about what she said about you?”
“I’m frustrated because it’s true,” you said angrily.
He sat back in his chair. “I don’t think it is.”
You looked up at him. “I’m supposed to hate you, so you don’t count.”
“So you don’t hate Kara?” he asked.
“Who?” you asked.
“The slut,” he answered.
“Of course I hate her, I just…” you frowned.
He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Look, you’re the first girl I have ever been able to talk to as a friend, without her hitting on me. Do you have any idea how special that is?”
Your eyes met.
“I personally don’t know why you’ve never had a boyfriend before, I think you have a perfectly fine sense of fashion, and I wouldn’t call you a loner. You do have one friend.”
You looked at him. His eyes flashed with something different.
He twisted his fingers together and looked down at the ground. “Really, I’m quite jealous of you. All I’ve ever wanted is to be able to just sit in the Library and read a book, or write a story or a poem…just to have a moment to breathe. I thank you for giving me that.”
You pause for a moment, looking into his suddenly soft eyes. Then you gave him a smile.
~Oliver’s POV~
I don’t think she understood the shivers that went up my spine when she gave me that look. No one had ever done that to me before, and I questioned myself whether Amity-Joy Curtis really existed. Perhaps she was just a figure of my imagination, for she was far too perfect for reality.
I HATE THAT IDIOT ‘OLLIE’ WOOD! He’s so up himself. He’s not even that brilliant at Quidditch! How the HELL could so many people be so bloody dim-sighted? Out of all the people I have seen, he is the most immature, ugly, hopelessly arrogant asshole!
You paused and looked up distastefully. Oliver Wood stood with a vague expression on his face, staring into the fire. He seemed undisturbed until a large group of girls with excessively short skirts and tarty make-up walking through the Common Room, said, “Hi, Ollie,” before running away giggling with much naivety, out the portrait hole.
You rolled your eyes, and then glanced quickly at Oliver, who had done the same as you were doing now, but in the direction of the girls, before dragging them back down to your diary. But you were clueless as to what to write next. For some reason, your anger had evaporated from looking at him. It was as if for a lonely moment, you felt detached from the world. In a horrible way it felt right, or perhaps it was only because it was the habit of being forlorn almost all your life. You sighed and thought it was probably the butterbeer, gurgling away inside you, sending your emotions off like fireworks, but not in a good way.
You searched your hand around aimlessly looking for your quill. It seemed to have disappeared. You eventually gave up, even though if you were less sleepy you would have seen it was right in front of your feet. You stood up, stretched and gathered your things into your bag then headed to bed.
~Oliver’s POV~
I saw a girl go up to bed leaving behind her quill. I think she was in the year below me. Boy, was she a sight. She seems rather quiet compared to every girl I had met, but also very bitter. I walked over and picked it up. It had Amity-Joy Curtis written in gold on the side. I put in my pocket intending to return it tomorrow.
~Next Saturday, Your POV~
It was a Hogsmead weekend. Oh joy. They always irritated you. Your family would not let you go because it was TOO DANGEROUS. But it was not all bad for it gave you time to think.
You made your way to the Quidditch Field, with a school broomstick in your hand. Before having a second thought, you unleashed the bludger and held a bat in your hand. You swiftly mounted the broomstick and felt it lift into the air. Your stomach went to your throat and the wonderful sensation of hitting something as hard as you possibly can, sending it over towards the castle, almost breaking a window, felt wonderful.
~Oliver’s POV~
I was sitting in the Common Room finishing an essay for Professor Snape when a bludger came within a millimeter of the window before stopping and flying back. I leapt up and dashed towards the pitch in amazement. Not even Fred or George could hit a bludger that far!
As I neared the pitch I slowed, creeping up into the stands. The girl I had seen in the Common Room recently was mounted on a Comet 260 hitting the bludgers in every direction. I was astonished at her strength and anger. It was almost as if she was imagining her worst enemies face on each bludger.
~Back To You~
“Stupid…Oliver…” you said, hitting each bludger while imagining his face on it. A strange feeling that someone was watching you came across you, but you were too pissed off to care.
~Next Monday~
You made your way through the corridors. You got pushed around a lot, as over ten people were supposed to fit across. But, daydreaming just as usual, you did not seem to notice. It was not until you burst out of the crowd and cascaded backwards from hitting some…thing in front of you.
~Oliver’s POV~
Something hard knocked into me. I stumbled back and landed on my back. I looked up, angry words on my lips. When I saw who it was they died away.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, crawling over to her and helping gather her things. I got to my knees and extending my hand to the girl. She flinched as I did so and gave me a funny look.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine.” She said, starting to get the rest of her things. I wanted to help so I went to pick up the quills, which were strewn across the floor. But when I saw a name written on them all, I paused. I pulled out the quill I had found the night before. They both had Amity-Joy Curtis written on them.
“Oh, is this yours? You left it in the Common Room the other day.” I said handing it to her.
“Oh. Thanks.” She had a funny expression on her face, like she didn’t realize what had happened.
“Um…” I was unsure what to say next. “C-can I help you with anything else?”
“No, I am just fine, thank you,” she said, not meeting her eyes.
I frowned. “No, really, I must insist. It was my fault I knocked you over, I should’ve been watching where I was going, instead of waving goodbye to my friends.” He looked at you with those innocent eyes that every girl in the school would normally faint over.
“No,” she said bluntly.
I stopped in shock. This had not happened to me before. “What?”
“No,” she repeated solemnly.
Surprised, but all the more enticed, I sighed. “I see. You’re a stubborn little dog, aren’t you? Right. Well, this calls for one thing.” I flicked my wand and she was under a curse so her body could not move.
She did not complain, or say anything for that matter, which confused me. She was not at all anything she seemed to be. I took the two of us down to the Common Room and sat her down on the comfiest chair in the room. I sat her things on a table and magically moved one of the chairs so it was facing opposite her. Her expression seemed undecided.
~Back To You~
Anger boiled away inside of you. What was wrong with him? Can’t he see you do not like this? You then frown. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you,” he replied cheerfully.
“Fine then. Talk.” She wished she could belt him down to the ground with a cement pole.
He paused. “Guess what I saw yesterday.”
“Should I care?” she asked pleasantly.
“A young girl, about fifteen, over at the Quidditch Field on a Comet 260, sending bludgers out so hard that that almost shattered the Griffindor Common Room window. It’s funny, cause she looks a lot like you.”
Your hard eyes soften as he talked. You sigh. “Can you unbind me?”
He did so easily.
Though you have a chance to run out of the room and escape, you stay put. You do not know why. It seems extremely unlike you to do something like this.
Neither of you say anything for a matter of minutes. They seem to drag on but it is just that you cannot think of anything to say.
“I never knew anyone could be so good at Quidditch,” he said suddenly.
“I’m not that brilliant,” you mutter.
He looks at you. “I got asked to sign up to one of the teams that play in the Quidditch World Cup. I have met the players. You are almost just as good as them, definitely better than me, and you haven’t even done your OWLS yet!”
“Look, I don’t play Quidditch,” she said angrily. “I…” you sighed, frustrated. “Well, I just don’t.”
“What?” he asked in shock. “So you don’t practice? You don’t get taught, or anything at all?”
“I haven’t hit a bludger since I was eight years old,” you said.
He laughed while saying, “I bet you must of put someone in St. Mungo’s.”
You looked at him with an ashen look on her face, the fire flickering madly on your face.
Realizing, he looked down at the ground in shame. “Sorry.”
“If I knew you were there, I would have stopped, as much as I would have enjoyed seeing you lying unconscious in a hospital bed,” you told him bluntly.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
“You’re so up yourself. How the HELL could so many people be so bloody dim-sighted? Out of all the people I have seen, you are the most immature, hopelessly arrogant asshole!” you said savagely. “Really, I don’t see how you are so popular.”
He laughed. “As much as you’re a bitch, I can’t help but like you.”
“What?” you asked shocked.
“You tell the truth,” he said. “No one has ever said that about me before. Especially a girl. It’s so annoying. They’re always like, ‘Hi, Ollie!’ and, ‘What’s up, Ollie?’.”
“You like it though,” you replied.
He raised an eyebrow. “You honestly think that?”
“Of course,” you said. “Every times they say it, you look over at them and smile, or just look over your shoulder to see if they’re still looking at you, which they normally are.”
“You honestly think that?” he said, sounding not the slightest bit insulted.
“What, does your eyes accidentally fall down to see how short their skirts are?” you asked him.
“How many girls have I gone out with, Amity?” he asked.
“Lost count, have you? And how do you know my name?” you frowned.
He picked up her quill, showing her name written in gold on the side. “I have never been out with a girl before.”
Your mouth opened and closed over the next fair few moments, until you said, “What!”
“Believe it or not,” he said plainly.
“I don’t believe it… How, exactly, have you managed to not go out with a girl?” you asked, interested.
“I was waiting for the right girl to come along,” he said. “Plus, all the girls that ask me out are tarty dogs.”
“That’s nice of you,” you said, “however, true.”
“Not to mention, can you imagine how many bitch fights there would be throughout the school if I chose one girl to be with?” he asked her.
“To tell you the truth, I would probably sit and laugh at them all while you and Miss Perfect sit but the fire making out,” you laughed.
His reaction was suddenly shocked and frozen.
You looked at him, confused. “What?”
“You…just smiled,” he said.
“Yeah?” you said. “So?”
“Well…” he cleared his throat, “…I’ve never seen you smile before. It just took me off guard…”
You paused. “You need a hobby. It’s not that big a deal. It’s only a smile.”
“Yeah, but…” he stopped as a horde of girls ran in through the portrait hole, giggling at the sight of him. They all went and sat by the window, sneaking glances at him often.
“You can stop looking now,” you said suddenly.
“I’m contemplating whether to ask them if their skirts are short enough,” he said.
There was a large amount of sudden giggling as the leader of the tarty girls striped off her jumper and showed her tanned skin. She sat down lightly on the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Remember me?” she said, brushing her eyelashes against his cheek.
“Vividly,” he said distastefully.
Angered by his reply, she tried more and more to entice him, but it did not seem to work.
Oliver sighed and took hold of her arms and pushed them away. “Look, I’m really not interested.”
“Sure you are,” she said. She caught sight of you as you worked on an essay. “Who are you?”
You look up. “Sorry?”
“Aren’t you that loner with no fashion sense and who has never had a boyfriend?”
She said it so nastily that certain words came to your head that would make this little slut cry. You tried to bite your tongue.
“It’s Amity-Joy,” you replied. “I know who you are.”
“Really? Who am I?” she asked, smiling sweetly, although with fakery.
“You’re that slut who gets every boy she wants, without even knowing them, meanwhile cheating on them with someone else, before dumping them because they didn’t buy you a present over two hundred gallons for your one-week anniversary, then wonders why everyone hates you and guys won’t go out with you anymore.”
Fury played all over her face, and it only increased when Oliver laughed out loud, even after the whole group was out of the portrait hole.
“That was really good,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m starting only now to see just how much there is still to learn about you.” He gave another chuckle. “I am so glad I made you come in here, otherwise I don’t think I would have ever seen that look on her in this lifetime.” He looked at her to see if you were laughing, but your face was quite drawn. He sighed. “Are you upset about what she said about you?”
“I’m frustrated because it’s true,” you said angrily.
He sat back in his chair. “I don’t think it is.”
You looked up at him. “I’m supposed to hate you, so you don’t count.”
“So you don’t hate Kara?” he asked.
“Who?” you asked.
“The slut,” he answered.
“Of course I hate her, I just…” you frowned.
He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Look, you’re the first girl I have ever been able to talk to as a friend, without her hitting on me. Do you have any idea how special that is?”
Your eyes met.
“I personally don’t know why you’ve never had a boyfriend before, I think you have a perfectly fine sense of fashion, and I wouldn’t call you a loner. You do have one friend.”
You looked at him. His eyes flashed with something different.
He twisted his fingers together and looked down at the ground. “Really, I’m quite jealous of you. All I’ve ever wanted is to be able to just sit in the Library and read a book, or write a story or a poem…just to have a moment to breathe. I thank you for giving me that.”
You pause for a moment, looking into his suddenly soft eyes. Then you gave him a smile.
~Oliver’s POV~
I don’t think she understood the shivers that went up my spine when she gave me that look. No one had ever done that to me before, and I questioned myself whether Amity-Joy Curtis really existed. Perhaps she was just a figure of my imagination, for she was far too perfect for reality.
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