Chapter 4
2 years later
“Cresswell?” Startled from amidst the piles of papers on her desk, Tommie span round to face her boss Nate. Nathaniel Inkwood was the current senior Quidditch correspondent at the Daily Prophet, he had interviewed her on her graduation from Hogwarts seemingly impressed by the few reports she had written about the Gryffindor matches which had landed her the job as a sports reporter.
She had originally started keeping accounts of the matches after she could no longer bring herself to go to practises, and Oliver stopped pressing her to. It was the only way she felt she could still be involved in the sport. Wood had found them useful to help with strategy in upcoming games, he enjoyed reading about Tommie’s suggestions for better plays, mistakes they had made and how to avoid them, it had definitely contributed to the soaring victory that Gryffindor had secured in their last year. (Oliver had admitted as much at the after party when he was so full of firewhisky he had pressed himself to her side, muttering all sorts of other nonsense about her being like the moon.) It was the only thing they could talk about after their argument. Speaking used loosely, Tommie would owl Oliver her report before it was published and he would reply with suggestions and feedback.
“Sorry, I was caught up in the final draft of-” Tommie scrambled to pick up some of the papers that had fallen to the ground.
Nate leaned against the corner of her desk, grinning at her.
He looked like he should be playing quidditch himself, he was the classic quidditch heartthrob she had pined over in her youth, but Nate had decided that he didn’t want to risk his good looks by being in the path of a bludger every day of his life. He was from a quite well known wizarding family with connections in all the right places. Nate had started in Tommies current position before quickly working his way up, he may not be writing the reports anymore but he knew what worked and what didn’t and that was the important thing to the editor in chief.
“You were in Gryffindor with Oliver Wood weren’t you?”
“Sadly.”
“Puddlemere moved him from the reserve team in a pretty big promotion. How do you fancy doing a feature on their new Keeper/Coach before his debut match?”
“I mean I could write it without even talking to him.”
“I’m sure you could, I heard they made a fan club for him at Hogwarts. I take it you were the founding member?”
“Have you ever been told you’re not actually funny?”
“Only by you, so it doesn’t have much weight.”
“Are you sure there’s no one else?” Nate didn’t even bother responding to her question. Their department was small, Tommie was the only sports reporter. They occasionally had students from Hogwarts doing work placements but that wasn’t often enough to be useful. “Fine if it means I get a week away from being stuck here with you.” She finally muttered, none to pleased about it.
Nate pushed off the desk with a short puff of air from his mouth and shook his head at her. Sometimes she was glad she had the cushion of being a good journalist behind her, Nate sometimes had a glint behind his eyes that indicated he wanted to throttle her.
Tommie pushed her current article aside, smoothing the hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear as she leaned over a fresh piece of parchment to begin penning a letter. Her quill made a light clinking sound against the glass as she tapped some excess ink off.
Dear Oliver
A soft scratch quickly hid that, it felt far too intimate.
Dear Wood,
Congrats on finally convincing puddlemere your giant head is good for blocking quaffles, your parents must be so proud!
Only joking, I’m glad you’ve managed to get a step closer to running a major league team of your own.
Fancy meeting for a drink?
Cresswell
It felt a little odd writing to Wood again. Sure they’d exchanged a few polite owls here and there after they’d left Hogwarts but life was busy and eventually the correspondence just stopped. She couldn’t remember who sent the last letter. It was probably Oliver, Wood was too polite to just never reply. He would send his scrawny little owl half way across the country just for a two word response. They weren’t really friends after all, after she had revealed the news about her father their relationship became strained and talking to each other felt awkward to navigate.
Tommie traipsed down the carpeted Hallway towards the closest window. She gave a sharp whistle, elbows resting on the ledge while she waited for one of the Daily Prophets owls to perch. She was glad to see the barn owl she was fond of. The owl had a sweet temperament, liked to be scratched, and very much enjoyed the pumpkin seeds that Tommie most definitely didn’t keep just for her. Careful not to tie the letter too tightly to her foot, she sent the owl off, her wings fluttering softly in the breeze.
Now Tommie had to get back to her article and try to ignore the flip flop of her stomach. She was not nervous about Wood’s response in the slightest.
Two days had passed and Tommie was starting to think she wasn’t going to get a response at all from Oliver. Sure he was bound to be getting owls left right and centre since the news of his promotion broke but deep down she thought their sort of friendship had meant something to him.
She scraped the last of the pasta sauce from her bowl, fork clattering against the ceramic as she sighed and flopped bodily against her sofa, too tired and full to move, just as she liked. A soft tapping against her window broke her from her almost nap and Tommie groaned as she stretched out and stood up.
A scruffy looking owl with its feathers all awry stared at her curiously, head tilted to the side. She would recognise that owl anywhere. It was nice to know Oliver hadn’t changed now that he was some fancy big shot quidditch player.
Popping the window open and letting the little guy hop onto the inner ledge, she took a small handful of seeds she kept in a pouch nearby. She held out her hand letting him politely peck them from her palm. She tried to smooth down some of his feathers but it seemed they were just perpetually stuck in disarray. It reminded her of Oliver, hair always windswept whether he’d been flying or not.
“Don’t tell him I gave you these” Tommie whispered to the owl as he finished up and gave her a tinkling chirp in response.
Tommie untied the letter from his leg, letting the owl settle in as if he knew she’d reply some time tonight. She unrolled the parchment, the corners of her mouth fighting to upturn at the sight of Wood’s nearly illegible scratch.
Cresswell,
I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after my last letter. I thought my owl had delivered it to the middle of the ocean.
Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at 8 work for you?
Wood
Cringing a little at the obvious slight, it hurt to realise that Oliver was upset about losing contact with her. And that she was right about him being the last to send a letter.
She turned to rifle through the stack of papers and books on her coffee table, looking for any scrap of parchment to jot down her reply.
Wood
As long as the leaky cauldron isn’t too beneath you now, it’s a date.
Cresswell
Using the bit of string the original letter had arrived tied up with, Tommie carefully rolled her scrap into a tube and secured it to the bird's ankle before giving him another stroke along his downy feathers. “Off you go.” He gave a little hop before taking off out of the window, Tommie closed and locked it behind him, rubbing her arms to try and rid her arms of the goosebumps the breeze had caused.
Her stomach did a silly little flip flop again knowing she was going to see Wood in person for the first time in years. It was always nerve wracking seeing someone you hadn’t seen in a while.
With a small push away from the window sill Tommie headed towards the bathroom. She needed to relax and a bath would help that immensely.
Time seemed to be going extra slow today and Tommie found herself making a heap of mistakes she wouldn’t usually. A spelling mistake here and there is fine but being handed back a draft she’d started that morning with a “can you try writing that in a language I understand?” And a scowl from Nate was particularly out of the ordinary.
“I’ve never seen you get this anxious about a story before.” He mentioned as her eyes scanned the work she’d turned over and he leaned over her desk. Not a singular comprehensible sentence. With a flick of her wand the parchment went up in flames, a small pile of ash left on her desk the only evidence it had even existed.
Tommie seemed confused for a second, a deep frown pulling between her eyes. “Oh you mean the Puddlemere piece!” She shook her head with a crooked smile, hair flying about her face. “I’m not anxious about the story, it’s just been a long time since I’ve seen Wood and we weren’t exactly friends at the best of times”
Nate crossed his arms with a knowing smile. “So you were one of his little fangirls.”
“No! Absolutely not. I just-“ She chewed on her lip as the memories flooded back. “We got into a pretty big argument, well I thought it was big at the time, and we just never really recovered from that. I don’t want it to be awkward, especially considering I need to convince him to let me write this article.”
Nate still didn’t look convinced but didn’t say anything to confirm it. He wrapped his knuckles on her desk before turning to leave. “I still need a readable draft on that Cannons piece before you leave today.”
“Ugh fine, you ask for so much from me.” She carried on mumbling to herself as she began writing on the parchment in front of her. At least the looming deadline would keep her distracted until tonight.
“I was still half convinced that letter was a figment of my imagination and I wasn’t going to see you tonight.” A familiar drawl called out as she neared the entrance to the pub.
Oliver wood leaned against the wall outside the leaky cauldron, his words coming out in curls of smoke from the chill in the air. He looked almost exactly how she remembered him and yet different at the same time. His hair was still rumpled and windswept, his eyes still the firewhiskey amber she remembered, and his accent still as heavy as ever. But he looked more refined and polished now, cheekbones sharper and jawline more angular. He looked like he’d fully grown into himself. Not that he ever looked out of place before. Oliver Wood demanded attention everywhere he went, he oozed sincerity and charm.
She couldn’t stop the grin that broke out as they stood face to face. Tommie had her hands tucked into her pockets, her frame wracked with shivers from the cold. “This might be the last time you see me if we don’t go inside. Hypothermia is deadly, you know.”
With a chuckle he gestured for her to go ahead, following behind her. Tommie tried to ignore the few gasps and hurried whispers that erupted once she heard the door close behind them. “I can’t believe I’m here with a celebrity.” She called behind her as she weaved through people to an empty booth. “And you’ve not even played a proper match yet, just wait until the quidditch fan girls get a hold of you.”
Wood rolled his eyes letting her drop into the seat and get comfy. “Butterbeer?” Tommie nodded and shucked off her coat and gloves while Oliver went to the bar to order for them.
She glanced around at the other witches and wizards in the bar, she was surprised at the amount that were watching Wood as he shot a grin at the blushing barmaid. It was just like being at hogwarts. All of the lower years and most of their own years fawning over his every move. Girls and boys alike flushing when he shot them a smile or a wink and dissolving into hysterical giggles with their friends. At least he was good at quidditch so the attention had some merit.
Wood returned with their drinks, placing one down in front of her, some of the foam sloshed down the side. She swept her finger out to stop it from pooling on the table.
“So Cresswell.” They weren’t beating around the bush then. “I heard you’re making a pretty good name for yourself as a sports journalist.” He took a quick sip of the beer.Tommie’s eyes lingered on the slow draw of his tongue across his lip.
“I wouldn’t say that good, I’ve done some okay pieces here and there.” She shrugged, head ducking to hide the colour in her cheeks.
Leaning back against the booth seat, arms spread across the back of them he raised an eyebrow. “Does this have anything to do with why you wanted to meet?”
Tommie looked affronted. That was the reason but how dare he assume she would just ask him out for drinks like she had. She spread her palms on the table in front of her. “Now you’ve made it sound seedy. We were friends once!”
“I wouldn’t exactly say friends would you?” She hated that smirk.
“Okay look, The daily prophet wants to know if you’ll agree to a feature piece before your debut match. I was wondering if because we were such good friends you’d be nice and agree? I know you’ll have that bint from wizarding world news trying to climb in your lap any minute and I’m pretty certain you’d rather deal with me.”
Wood looked ill at the thought. “God I remember that interview she did when I was given the position on the reserve team. Almost made me quit.”
“Don’t be silly, nothing could make you quit quidditch.”
“Her hands trying to grope me while she asked about my childhood was.”
“No-“ Tommie pretended to jot down notes in the notebook she’d taken from her bag. “Groping. Got it. Anything else on the no list?” Oliver snorted as he took another swig of butterbeer, shaking his head at her with a smile. She was almost positive he wouldn’t say no now. “So you’ll do it?”
“Sure, I trust you to not make me look like a total idiot.”
She let out an over exaggerated sigh. “I can only do so much magic” Oliver rolled his eyes and Tommie reached for her own drink, cradling the glass in her hands. “I don’t want to dive straight into work stuff. We can schedule a time in the week properly. I feel bad about ignoring your last letter, tell me how life since Hogwarts has been?”
Oliver actually looked embarrassed as he glanced around the bar to avoid making eye contact with Tommie.“I mean I signed puddlemere before I even finished my NEWTs, my life has been nothing but Quidditch.”
“So nothing different there then. Surely you’ve got loads of fun stories? I’ve seen some of the submissions to our gossip column, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was probing, he looked a bit uncomfortable by the topic.
“I wish half the things they wrote about me were true, that Oliver Wood seems to live a very exciting lifestyle.” He finally looked back at her, lips downturned in a sad smile.
“I can’t wait to break the hearts of your little fanatics revealing that you’re not the bad boy player they think you are.”
He looked directly in her eyes at this, noting the playful smirk in her eyes. “Cresswell, you’re the first person I’ve had a drink with outside of my team in months.” The admission made her heart clench in her chest.
“Flatterer.” She definitely wasn’t blushing. Tommie shifted in her seat, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the wooden table top. “Well I don’t have a set deadline for this article, we could use this as an opportunity for you to spend time away from the pitch if you’d like. I just have to have it ready for publication about a week before your first match and the season doesn’t start for a couple of months right?”
“And I’m just supposed to tell you all about my life and how I came to play quidditch? I don’t think we can spread that little story over that long. I mean you know almost the entirety of my career anyway.”
“Okay so we need a way of pitching a longer term article and not just an intro piece on puddlemeres up and comer…” She was musing out loud, her eyes flitting around as she tried to un-jumble the ideas in her head. “They made you captain because of a few retirements, maybe I could do an insight on training the new players?”
“Cresswell. I don’t want you to go crazy when I say this but I have an idea.”
She shot up in her seat, grinning and pretending to shout into her hands cupped around her mouth. “Hold the presses, this is the article, Oliver Wood’s first idea!”
Oliver rolled his eyes at her antics, pushing through the smile that was forcing its way out. He knew her attitude would change as soon as he got this out loud.“People are always saying a team is only as good as their captain right?” Tommie nodded and tipped her head to the side in curiosity, her hair falling across her face. She quickly swept it out of the way while Oliver’s fingers twitched against the fabric of the booth chairs. “What if I trained a complete and utter rookie to my position for the first match?”
Tommie began jotting something down in her notebook, eyes lighting up with excitement. He wondered if she always got this excited about her articles or (he wasn’t sure where this thought had come from) whether it was because it had come from him. “That’s an interesting idea. If I could document the training process up to and including the first match if your team won it would not only prove that you deserve to be Puddlemeres youngest ever Captain it would pretty much solidify you as one of the Quidditch greats.”
“It would have to be someone with at least a little aptitude for quidditch though, some people just don’t have the stomach for flying.” This is where it was going to get tricky.
“Yeah but the newer they are the more impressive for you.”
Tommie was still scribbling away so Wood took a deep breath and leaned forwards across the table. “So someone with no record of having played quidditch, but who was a decent flyer, would be a great shout aye?”
“Wood-“ Her quill halted instantly but her eyes stayed trained on the notebook in her hands.
“And a more personalised article would be better too aye?” Surely she could see this was a fantastic idea!
She placed her quill down on the table, tucking her shaking hands into her lap, and spoke with an emotionless voice. “We had this discussion before Wood. In fact if I remember correctly that was one of the last in person conversations we had.”
“That’s before you became a published name in the biggest newspaper in the wizarding world.” He shifted as close to the table as he could get, hands moving animatedly. “Look I don’t want to push you but this could be your chance Cresswell. You love quidditch you always have, you write about it for a living. This gives you the opportunity to be part of a major league team, play a match, and you’re not some unknown name journalists will go digging into. If you like it and are good enough, even better for your article. It looks good for the paper too, and if you don’t then you go back to writing about it. And with you being such a well known name in sports journalism any stories that could come out about your father will just be seen as petty gossip and attempts to undermine you.”
Tommie stared at him blankly, her mouth wasn’t even poised for a response, he knew at this point he’d lost her. She was going to shut down and hide again, just like before.
“That argument we had? I wanted so badly to help you but there was nothing I could do, you were right. But this? Tommie, I could finally help you here.”
Her eyes went cold at that, the last of the light leaving. He watched as she began packing away her notebook and self inking quill. “I don’t need your help Wood.”
“I know. You never have but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to anyway.” He shuffled towards the table end of the booth seat as Tommie stood up and extracted herself. Wood stayed seated as she stood at the end of the table. “I’m agreeing to the article either way, just think about it, Cresswell.”
She wrapped her scarf back around her neck, before sliding on the first of her gloves. “Thank you for meeting me tonight. I’ll-I’ll think about it and send you an owl in a few days to set up once i've decided on the direction of the article.” She was the picture of politeness, he almost missed the shouting matches they were prone to having in the halls of hogwarts.
“I’m sor-“ She shook her head halting his words, her last glove finally hiding her long deft fingers.
“No Wood it’s okay really, I just have a lot to think about and a busy day tomorrow. I’ll see you soon.” Oliver slumped in his seat as he heard her retreat and the soft tinkling bell signalling her leaving. As the door softly closed he drained the rest of his butterbeer.
That went well.