FIC: Playing Favourites (Oliver/Cho, PG)
Dec. 15th, 2012 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slumberTitle: Playing Favourites
Characters: Oliver Wood, Cho Chang
Word Count: ~2800
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: From the prompt: Cho's first patient as a Healer is Oliver Wood, fresh off a Quidditch injury. He wants to get back to the pitch as soon as possible. She wants to get him completely healed. They disagree. A lot.
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters, and the plot is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nessismore's. :)
Author's Notes: I ficced for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
interhouse_fest. kalisgirl did a great beta job on this one! <3 Any mistakes are due to my post-beta meddling.
The first time Cho catches Oliver Wood wandering St Mungo's ward nowhere near his own, he at least has the grace to look embarrassed.
"Last time I checked," she tells him, clipboard clutched to her chest and fingers kneading her temple, "you were told you needed to rest, avoid extraneous activities, and not roam the ward without anybody knowing where you went."
"It got stuffy," came the Puddlemere Rookie of the Year's brilliant defense. "Sorry, Cho."
"Healer Chang," she says immediately. "It's Healer Chang, Mr Wood."
He looks at her like he has no idea what she's playing at, and she has to draw up to her full five feet, two inches (even then, she only manages to stare at his chest -- she remembers him being tall, but he had never been this tall, had he?), shoulders squared. "I know we went to school together, but you can't curry favours from me just because of that."
It's also her first year since moving from the residency program into full-time attending status at St Mungo's, so if a little bit of pleading slipped into her tone she hopes Oliver ignores it.
"Fine," he says instead, flashing her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Healer Chang."
"It's fine," she replies, and they stand like that for a few more moments before she raises her eyebrow. "Did you need to be escorted back, Mr Wood?"
"Oh! Right. Uh. Probably?" He runs his hand through his hair. "Might make a wrong turn somewhere, you never know."
"Oh, honestly," she huffs, shaking her head, but they do walk side by side until he's back at his ward. "Have a good night, Mr Wood."
***
"These potions have been prescribed to you for a reason, Oliver," Cho says. Her hand is balancing a colourful mix of small vials, none of which had been opened.
"I thought it was Mr Wood?"
"Your case has been transferred to me--" and in those instances healers were encouraged to foster some sort of familiarity with their patients, the textbooks said. Cho catches herself before she spouts the text verbatim. "You're trying to divert the conversation, don't think I can't tell."
"Can I call you Cho now, then?" Oliver asks. He's lying in his hospital bed, too large for the slim metal frames, too casual, almost. Not a limb is broken or cast or bandaged, but they're wizards; broken bones are the least of their worries.
It's his head that's been acting up, thanks to too many bludgers and quaffles to the skull and at least three concussions more than any one wizard should experience in his lifetime. Unlike Muggle doctors, the St Mungo's healers have some potions that can help, but even so, the more Oliver gets hit in the head, the less advisable his return to Quidditch becomes. Some things magic has yet to thoroughly figure out.
"Still Healer Chang," Cho says, "and you still need to take these potions."
"They're foul."
"They aren't meant to be liked; otherwise we'd be selling them at Florean's."
"Oh, you must think you're funny."
"No, but I do think you're throwing quite a large fuss over something that shouldn't bother a grown man such as yourself. Drink up, or am I going to have to make you?"
He chuckles then. "One," he says, "did you just call me a baby? And two, whatever happened to bedside manners?"
"I reserve them for my favourite patients," she allows herself to lob back before trying for another tactic. "Come on, Ol, you're going to make me look bad."
"Alright, alright," Oliver sighs, opening up his hands for the potions. And because he is, deep down, a decent person, he drinks them all in front of Cho, opening his mouth wide and showing her his tongue he's done.
Cho beams. "Thank you," she says, truly grateful. "You know you're supposed to be taking these every four hours, every day... Am I going to have to send a Mediwitch over each time to make sure you are?"
"That depends. Are they going to be as pretty as you?"
Cho smacks him on the shoulder with a pillow and pretends the flush on her cheeks is embarrassment.
***
"Oliver!" The word comes out more as a screech than anything else, but Cho barely notices, her wand drawn out and a quick Accio leaving her lips. "What do you think you're doing?"
"It's been weeks, Cho," Oliver tells her, and any other time perhaps she'd find the pleading look on his face forgivable. Any other time, but certainly not when he wears it after attempting to mount a broom and fly before he's even been given the go-ahead for even the most basic physical activity patients in his condition are usually allowed.
"Yes, and it'll be longer if you try to push yourself. Are you an idiot?" she hisses, too consumed by anger to watch her words.
"Mean. Guess you could say I was acting like a concussed idiot, yeah?"
His attempt to diffuse the situation falls flat. She only crosses her arms and glares at him. "I cannot believe you thought this would be a good idea."
"I didn't," he says, nearly wilting under her glare. "In my defense," he adds after an awkward pause.
"Then why did you even--"
"It's been weeks," he repeats. And she knows, on some rational part of her brain -- the one that isn't completely consumed by the thought that Oliver could have been hurt, or made his situation worse -- that Oliver hasn't been out of action this long before.
For all that he is dutifully taking his potions and doing as the Healers tell him, this is one of those concussions where the effects insist on lingering. The first time they'd tried to get him to do an easy work-out, just walking the length of the hospital, he'd become inexplicably dizzy on the way back to his ward. They haven't tried anything since then, choosing to err on the side of caution, and Cho knows, understands, that it can be frustrating. Oliver is hardly the first professional athlete that she'd had to take care of through an injury, and he's certainly not been the worst.
"I know," she finds herself saying, her breathing returning to a calmer, steadier pace. "I know. But all the same, what you've tried to do was utterly, inexplicably moronic."
"I know." His shoulders slump, and he looks longingly at the broom that had been Summoned to Cho's hand. "I'd just rather--"
"Rather what?"
He shrugs. "Better to go while I'm flying than to never get to fly, I guess I was thinking," he mumbles.
Cho doesn't know what to say for a moment. "You'll recover eventually," she manages after a few beats. "Okay?"
He nods, but she knows the thought has not left his mind: that he's likely played his last game. It's ridiculous to imagine, when he's barely past his third year in the league, but that's the nature of the sport, isn't it? That's what her parents had told her when they asked how seriously she was considering pursuing a professional Quidditch career.
The walk back to his ward is quiet. Cho doesn't want Oliver lost in his thoughts but she comes up with little to bring up that won't seem pitiful or overly cheerful, certainly nothing remotely helpful. Instead she clocks out of her shift, changes into her regular robes, and comes to knock on his ward door.
He looks confused until she holds up a game of gobstones.
"The trick is to find something to distract you that won't hurt your head," she explains.
"It's gobstones," comes his response. "I'm already coming down with a headache."
She shakes her head and stifles a laugh. "Shut up and play."
***
Cho forgets to knock.
It isn't that she has to -- she's his attending, she checks in all the time, nowadays even when she isn't on shift. She doesn't knock because he usually knows to expect her, either with potions to drink or physical tests to take or a new game to play that isn't as deathly boring as gobstones or just, as she's been doing more and more lately, to check in.
So it isn't that Cho forgets to knock, really, it's that she doesn't think she has to.
But she really should have.
She walks in without knocking, wondering what Oliver might think of the new game she has tucked under her arm (Cards Against Humanity -- a recommendation by one of the Muggleborn Mediwitches). It isn't until she's almost by his bed that she realises he's cut-off mid-laugh, that there is a tall and very pretty brunette on the other side of his bed. Her mouth is open like she's in the middle of telling Oliver some story, and both of them are looking at her.
"Cho!" Oliver says with a smile.
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't realise--"
"No, no, it's okay, come sit down, this is--"
"You're not supposed to have visitors past six," she says, jaw tightening and a clenching, gutting sort of feeling settling at the pit of her stomach. "Just so you know. Someone else could come in and see."
"Oh, we thought--"
"It's fine, but I thought you should know that," Cho interrupts, giving both of them a perfunctory smile. "I hadn't meant to interrupt, I'm sorry. I should go, though."
She hurries out the room (and does not flee, no matter what anyone else says) before Oliver can say anything else.
***
The next time Cho sees Oliver on a broom, he is actually supposed to try flying. It's been a few weeks more since his previous foolhardy attempt; he's spent the last few days easing himself into a physical routine of exercises, pushing himself further and further each day. Or so his physical therapist tells Cho; it's been the same amount of time since he was transferred from Cho's care to Healer Hilliard's.
"You ought to come and look," Hilliard tells her. "He's a bit nervous about it and it would be nice to have a familiar face cheering him on."
Cho thinks there's something pointed about the way Hilliard suggests visiting, but she ignores it. She hasn't visited because Oliver isn't her patient anymore; she never should have started in the first place, anyway. They were warned about making mistakes like that in Healing school, and through their internships and residency. She should have known better, and now she's got a former patient acting like some kind of oversized pup who's lost his favorite chew toy.
"Fine," Cho tells Hilliard, mortified when she realises she's just compared herself to a chew toy. That's how she comes to find herself out in the field behind St Mungo's, waving tentatively at Oliver, who grins back nervously as he mounts his broom and hovers a few tentative feet above the ground.
Hilliard lets him hold that height for a few minutes before he signals for Oliver to land himself. "Should be good enough for today," he says. "Good job."
"That's it?" Oliver asks. "That was barely anything!"
"Baby steps," Hilliard reminds him before glancing at his watch. "I've another appointment in five; I'll see you tomorrow then? Same time? Maybe we can let you stay on the broom a bit longer."
Hilliard is gone before Oliver can argue. "Unbelievable," he mutters, glancing up at where Cho is sitting. "Can you believe that?"
"Sounds about right, really," she says. "But he'd know more about it than I do. You should listen to him. Give him a better time of it than you did me."
His face falls and Cho swallows the urge to apologise. "Yeah, guess I should."
"Do you need an escort back?" she asks before she can talk herself out of it.
***
The Quidditch season is nearly over, but there are still a few games left when Oliver is cleared to play again. Hilliard makes this pronouncement after an afternoon spent flying around the small pitch they'd set up behind the hospital. He manages to stay upright for a while, and is even able to block the Quaffles Cho lobs his way, laughing when she increases the strength behind each throw as per, and only because of, Hilliard's instructions from the ground.
"Congratulations, Oliver," Hilliard says with a satisfied grin. "You're ready to play. I'll let your team manager know the good news. You can report to the pitch as early as tomorrow."
Oliver hoots and hollers an embarrassing amount, Cho thinks, but even she can't help smiling. She turns to ask Hilliard a question but the man has inexplicably disappeared.
"Hey," Oliver says, nudging her shoulder with his. Or at least she assumes that's the intention -- in reality it's his arm that knocks into her shoulder. He's really bloody tall, she thinks with some irritation.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry I was a right pain in the arse," he mutters, cheeks pinking. "Didn't mean to be, but you were -- you didn't clock me on the head, that was nice of you."
"I try to be professional," she says.
"Yeah, I know." He runs his hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her. "Listen--"
"You should make sure to follow what regimen Healer Hilliard recommends to keep you in top condition."
"You should come to my game."
"Oh."
"As a thank you, I mean. You like Quidditch, right?"
The corner of her lips curls up. "Did you not play against me in school?"
"S'what I meant," he says, grinning. "Giving Hilliard tickets too, to thank him. You should come to my game. Puddlemere box seats. Very exclusive."
"I don't care about--" box seats, she means to say, but when Oliver looks crushed she shakes her head and cuts herself off abruptly. "When is it?" she asks instead.
***
Cho thinks about turning and running. She really, really does. The match is about to start and she's frozen in place, running through her possible escape routes because really? Pretty Brunette is waving her over and patting the seat beside her (box seats, and Pretty Brunette looks right at home in them) as though she's been reserving it just for Cho. Which she probably is. Then she says, "Healer Chang, come here. I've been holding this seat for you!" like Cho hadn't been utterly rude to her the last time they saw each other.
It doesn't occur to Cho to be surprised that Pretty Brunette knows her name until she's taken the seat and forced a smile to her face, a small "Thanks" slipping past her lips.
"We haven't been formally introduced," Pretty Brunette says, because of course Cho had fled. She's regretting that decision very much, now. She's regretting taking the seat, too, because it apparently is one of those seats that doesn't have the "swallow you up whole" option.
"I'm Cho Chang," she says with a weak smile.
"I know, I'm Madeleine Wood," Pretty Bru-- Madeleine Wood-- says, and if there is a lump in Cho's throat she chooses to swallow it. "Oliver's sister. But you can call me Maddie."
"Nice to meet yo -- sister?" Cho blurts out, flushing as soon as Madeleine smiles, because her smile doesn't look innocent, it looks knowing, and that is a whole different level of embarrassing. Cho's cheeks are warm, she's sure she's red as a tomato, and Madeleine just giggles. Giggles.
"Mm," Madeleine says. "Not surprised Oliver hasn't mentioned me. He usually claims I live to terrorise him."
Cho does not doubt this one bit. She's known Madeleine two minutes and she already feels terrorised. She bites her tongue, though, and just laughs along. "So," she tries, angling for a casual conversation starter, "you go to his games often?"
It's enough to get Madeleine -- who over the course of the game becomes Maddie -- talking. By the time the game ends Maddie's dragging Cho to the player locker rooms, marching her past the media and the United players in various states of undress.
"Hey Ollie," Maddie says cheerfully. "Guess who showed up?"
And maybe they should have waited until after the players are done showering, because not only is Oliver very tall, he's apparently also very broad. A towel is slung low over his hips as he dries himself off. He beams at them and suddenly Cho's mouth goes very dry.
"Oh there's Patrick; let me go say hi," Maddie says, there one moment and gone the next. Cho wonders if maybe she should introduce Maddie to Hilliard; they both seem very adept at leaving her alone with Oliver.
"Hi."
"Hello."
"You gave Healer Hilliard regular seats," Cho feels compelled to point out. "I mean they were first row seats, so that was nice, but you didn't--"
"I wasn't trying to ask him out," Oliver says.
Cho can't help returning the grin Oliver flashes, and if her cheeks are red, well, so be it; his are likely redder. "I guess I shouldn't tell him you were playing favourites?"
Characters: Oliver Wood, Cho Chang
Word Count: ~2800
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: From the prompt: Cho's first patient as a Healer is Oliver Wood, fresh off a Quidditch injury. He wants to get back to the pitch as soon as possible. She wants to get him completely healed. They disagree. A lot.
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters, and the plot is
nessismore's. :)Author's Notes: I ficced for
interhouse_fest. kalisgirl did a great beta job on this one! <3 Any mistakes are due to my post-beta meddling. The first time Cho catches Oliver Wood wandering St Mungo's ward nowhere near his own, he at least has the grace to look embarrassed.
"Last time I checked," she tells him, clipboard clutched to her chest and fingers kneading her temple, "you were told you needed to rest, avoid extraneous activities, and not roam the ward without anybody knowing where you went."
"It got stuffy," came the Puddlemere Rookie of the Year's brilliant defense. "Sorry, Cho."
"Healer Chang," she says immediately. "It's Healer Chang, Mr Wood."
He looks at her like he has no idea what she's playing at, and she has to draw up to her full five feet, two inches (even then, she only manages to stare at his chest -- she remembers him being tall, but he had never been this tall, had he?), shoulders squared. "I know we went to school together, but you can't curry favours from me just because of that."
It's also her first year since moving from the residency program into full-time attending status at St Mungo's, so if a little bit of pleading slipped into her tone she hopes Oliver ignores it.
"Fine," he says instead, flashing her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Healer Chang."
"It's fine," she replies, and they stand like that for a few more moments before she raises her eyebrow. "Did you need to be escorted back, Mr Wood?"
"Oh! Right. Uh. Probably?" He runs his hand through his hair. "Might make a wrong turn somewhere, you never know."
"Oh, honestly," she huffs, shaking her head, but they do walk side by side until he's back at his ward. "Have a good night, Mr Wood."
"These potions have been prescribed to you for a reason, Oliver," Cho says. Her hand is balancing a colourful mix of small vials, none of which had been opened.
"I thought it was Mr Wood?"
"Your case has been transferred to me--" and in those instances healers were encouraged to foster some sort of familiarity with their patients, the textbooks said. Cho catches herself before she spouts the text verbatim. "You're trying to divert the conversation, don't think I can't tell."
"Can I call you Cho now, then?" Oliver asks. He's lying in his hospital bed, too large for the slim metal frames, too casual, almost. Not a limb is broken or cast or bandaged, but they're wizards; broken bones are the least of their worries.
It's his head that's been acting up, thanks to too many bludgers and quaffles to the skull and at least three concussions more than any one wizard should experience in his lifetime. Unlike Muggle doctors, the St Mungo's healers have some potions that can help, but even so, the more Oliver gets hit in the head, the less advisable his return to Quidditch becomes. Some things magic has yet to thoroughly figure out.
"Still Healer Chang," Cho says, "and you still need to take these potions."
"They're foul."
"They aren't meant to be liked; otherwise we'd be selling them at Florean's."
"Oh, you must think you're funny."
"No, but I do think you're throwing quite a large fuss over something that shouldn't bother a grown man such as yourself. Drink up, or am I going to have to make you?"
He chuckles then. "One," he says, "did you just call me a baby? And two, whatever happened to bedside manners?"
"I reserve them for my favourite patients," she allows herself to lob back before trying for another tactic. "Come on, Ol, you're going to make me look bad."
"Alright, alright," Oliver sighs, opening up his hands for the potions. And because he is, deep down, a decent person, he drinks them all in front of Cho, opening his mouth wide and showing her his tongue he's done.
Cho beams. "Thank you," she says, truly grateful. "You know you're supposed to be taking these every four hours, every day... Am I going to have to send a Mediwitch over each time to make sure you are?"
"That depends. Are they going to be as pretty as you?"
Cho smacks him on the shoulder with a pillow and pretends the flush on her cheeks is embarrassment.
"Oliver!" The word comes out more as a screech than anything else, but Cho barely notices, her wand drawn out and a quick Accio leaving her lips. "What do you think you're doing?"
"It's been weeks, Cho," Oliver tells her, and any other time perhaps she'd find the pleading look on his face forgivable. Any other time, but certainly not when he wears it after attempting to mount a broom and fly before he's even been given the go-ahead for even the most basic physical activity patients in his condition are usually allowed.
"Yes, and it'll be longer if you try to push yourself. Are you an idiot?" she hisses, too consumed by anger to watch her words.
"Mean. Guess you could say I was acting like a concussed idiot, yeah?"
His attempt to diffuse the situation falls flat. She only crosses her arms and glares at him. "I cannot believe you thought this would be a good idea."
"I didn't," he says, nearly wilting under her glare. "In my defense," he adds after an awkward pause.
"Then why did you even--"
"It's been weeks," he repeats. And she knows, on some rational part of her brain -- the one that isn't completely consumed by the thought that Oliver could have been hurt, or made his situation worse -- that Oliver hasn't been out of action this long before.
For all that he is dutifully taking his potions and doing as the Healers tell him, this is one of those concussions where the effects insist on lingering. The first time they'd tried to get him to do an easy work-out, just walking the length of the hospital, he'd become inexplicably dizzy on the way back to his ward. They haven't tried anything since then, choosing to err on the side of caution, and Cho knows, understands, that it can be frustrating. Oliver is hardly the first professional athlete that she'd had to take care of through an injury, and he's certainly not been the worst.
"I know," she finds herself saying, her breathing returning to a calmer, steadier pace. "I know. But all the same, what you've tried to do was utterly, inexplicably moronic."
"I know." His shoulders slump, and he looks longingly at the broom that had been Summoned to Cho's hand. "I'd just rather--"
"Rather what?"
He shrugs. "Better to go while I'm flying than to never get to fly, I guess I was thinking," he mumbles.
Cho doesn't know what to say for a moment. "You'll recover eventually," she manages after a few beats. "Okay?"
He nods, but she knows the thought has not left his mind: that he's likely played his last game. It's ridiculous to imagine, when he's barely past his third year in the league, but that's the nature of the sport, isn't it? That's what her parents had told her when they asked how seriously she was considering pursuing a professional Quidditch career.
The walk back to his ward is quiet. Cho doesn't want Oliver lost in his thoughts but she comes up with little to bring up that won't seem pitiful or overly cheerful, certainly nothing remotely helpful. Instead she clocks out of her shift, changes into her regular robes, and comes to knock on his ward door.
He looks confused until she holds up a game of gobstones.
"The trick is to find something to distract you that won't hurt your head," she explains.
"It's gobstones," comes his response. "I'm already coming down with a headache."
She shakes her head and stifles a laugh. "Shut up and play."
Cho forgets to knock.
It isn't that she has to -- she's his attending, she checks in all the time, nowadays even when she isn't on shift. She doesn't knock because he usually knows to expect her, either with potions to drink or physical tests to take or a new game to play that isn't as deathly boring as gobstones or just, as she's been doing more and more lately, to check in.
So it isn't that Cho forgets to knock, really, it's that she doesn't think she has to.
But she really should have.
She walks in without knocking, wondering what Oliver might think of the new game she has tucked under her arm (Cards Against Humanity -- a recommendation by one of the Muggleborn Mediwitches). It isn't until she's almost by his bed that she realises he's cut-off mid-laugh, that there is a tall and very pretty brunette on the other side of his bed. Her mouth is open like she's in the middle of telling Oliver some story, and both of them are looking at her.
"Cho!" Oliver says with a smile.
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't realise--"
"No, no, it's okay, come sit down, this is--"
"You're not supposed to have visitors past six," she says, jaw tightening and a clenching, gutting sort of feeling settling at the pit of her stomach. "Just so you know. Someone else could come in and see."
"Oh, we thought--"
"It's fine, but I thought you should know that," Cho interrupts, giving both of them a perfunctory smile. "I hadn't meant to interrupt, I'm sorry. I should go, though."
She hurries out the room (and does not flee, no matter what anyone else says) before Oliver can say anything else.
The next time Cho sees Oliver on a broom, he is actually supposed to try flying. It's been a few weeks more since his previous foolhardy attempt; he's spent the last few days easing himself into a physical routine of exercises, pushing himself further and further each day. Or so his physical therapist tells Cho; it's been the same amount of time since he was transferred from Cho's care to Healer Hilliard's.
"You ought to come and look," Hilliard tells her. "He's a bit nervous about it and it would be nice to have a familiar face cheering him on."
Cho thinks there's something pointed about the way Hilliard suggests visiting, but she ignores it. She hasn't visited because Oliver isn't her patient anymore; she never should have started in the first place, anyway. They were warned about making mistakes like that in Healing school, and through their internships and residency. She should have known better, and now she's got a former patient acting like some kind of oversized pup who's lost his favorite chew toy.
"Fine," Cho tells Hilliard, mortified when she realises she's just compared herself to a chew toy. That's how she comes to find herself out in the field behind St Mungo's, waving tentatively at Oliver, who grins back nervously as he mounts his broom and hovers a few tentative feet above the ground.
Hilliard lets him hold that height for a few minutes before he signals for Oliver to land himself. "Should be good enough for today," he says. "Good job."
"That's it?" Oliver asks. "That was barely anything!"
"Baby steps," Hilliard reminds him before glancing at his watch. "I've another appointment in five; I'll see you tomorrow then? Same time? Maybe we can let you stay on the broom a bit longer."
Hilliard is gone before Oliver can argue. "Unbelievable," he mutters, glancing up at where Cho is sitting. "Can you believe that?"
"Sounds about right, really," she says. "But he'd know more about it than I do. You should listen to him. Give him a better time of it than you did me."
His face falls and Cho swallows the urge to apologise. "Yeah, guess I should."
"Do you need an escort back?" she asks before she can talk herself out of it.
The Quidditch season is nearly over, but there are still a few games left when Oliver is cleared to play again. Hilliard makes this pronouncement after an afternoon spent flying around the small pitch they'd set up behind the hospital. He manages to stay upright for a while, and is even able to block the Quaffles Cho lobs his way, laughing when she increases the strength behind each throw as per, and only because of, Hilliard's instructions from the ground.
"Congratulations, Oliver," Hilliard says with a satisfied grin. "You're ready to play. I'll let your team manager know the good news. You can report to the pitch as early as tomorrow."
Oliver hoots and hollers an embarrassing amount, Cho thinks, but even she can't help smiling. She turns to ask Hilliard a question but the man has inexplicably disappeared.
"Hey," Oliver says, nudging her shoulder with his. Or at least she assumes that's the intention -- in reality it's his arm that knocks into her shoulder. He's really bloody tall, she thinks with some irritation.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry I was a right pain in the arse," he mutters, cheeks pinking. "Didn't mean to be, but you were -- you didn't clock me on the head, that was nice of you."
"I try to be professional," she says.
"Yeah, I know." He runs his hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her. "Listen--"
"You should make sure to follow what regimen Healer Hilliard recommends to keep you in top condition."
"You should come to my game."
"Oh."
"As a thank you, I mean. You like Quidditch, right?"
The corner of her lips curls up. "Did you not play against me in school?"
"S'what I meant," he says, grinning. "Giving Hilliard tickets too, to thank him. You should come to my game. Puddlemere box seats. Very exclusive."
"I don't care about--" box seats, she means to say, but when Oliver looks crushed she shakes her head and cuts herself off abruptly. "When is it?" she asks instead.
Cho thinks about turning and running. She really, really does. The match is about to start and she's frozen in place, running through her possible escape routes because really? Pretty Brunette is waving her over and patting the seat beside her (box seats, and Pretty Brunette looks right at home in them) as though she's been reserving it just for Cho. Which she probably is. Then she says, "Healer Chang, come here. I've been holding this seat for you!" like Cho hadn't been utterly rude to her the last time they saw each other.
It doesn't occur to Cho to be surprised that Pretty Brunette knows her name until she's taken the seat and forced a smile to her face, a small "Thanks" slipping past her lips.
"We haven't been formally introduced," Pretty Brunette says, because of course Cho had fled. She's regretting that decision very much, now. She's regretting taking the seat, too, because it apparently is one of those seats that doesn't have the "swallow you up whole" option.
"I'm Cho Chang," she says with a weak smile.
"I know, I'm Madeleine Wood," Pretty Bru-- Madeleine Wood-- says, and if there is a lump in Cho's throat she chooses to swallow it. "Oliver's sister. But you can call me Maddie."
"Nice to meet yo -- sister?" Cho blurts out, flushing as soon as Madeleine smiles, because her smile doesn't look innocent, it looks knowing, and that is a whole different level of embarrassing. Cho's cheeks are warm, she's sure she's red as a tomato, and Madeleine just giggles. Giggles.
"Mm," Madeleine says. "Not surprised Oliver hasn't mentioned me. He usually claims I live to terrorise him."
Cho does not doubt this one bit. She's known Madeleine two minutes and she already feels terrorised. She bites her tongue, though, and just laughs along. "So," she tries, angling for a casual conversation starter, "you go to his games often?"
It's enough to get Madeleine -- who over the course of the game becomes Maddie -- talking. By the time the game ends Maddie's dragging Cho to the player locker rooms, marching her past the media and the United players in various states of undress.
"Hey Ollie," Maddie says cheerfully. "Guess who showed up?"
And maybe they should have waited until after the players are done showering, because not only is Oliver very tall, he's apparently also very broad. A towel is slung low over his hips as he dries himself off. He beams at them and suddenly Cho's mouth goes very dry.
"Oh there's Patrick; let me go say hi," Maddie says, there one moment and gone the next. Cho wonders if maybe she should introduce Maddie to Hilliard; they both seem very adept at leaving her alone with Oliver.
"Hi."
"Hello."
"You gave Healer Hilliard regular seats," Cho feels compelled to point out. "I mean they were first row seats, so that was nice, but you didn't--"
"I wasn't trying to ask him out," Oliver says.
Cho can't help returning the grin Oliver flashes, and if her cheeks are red, well, so be it; his are likely redder. "I guess I shouldn't tell him you were playing favourites?"
