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sleep-i-ness · 4 months ago

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Commentary of the Heart (Part 2)

Summary: If you knew all it would take was a particularly embarrassing stint on commentary for the Gryffindor match, you would've suffered through it sooner

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST | PART 1

“Good afternoon, Hogwarts! It’s a cold and cloudy day but the atmosphere is just electric. I’m your commentator, Lee Jordan. Joining me today due to a few incidents last time, we have a special guest to keep me in line. Y/N, Gryffindor’s resident mascot-”

You stomped on Lee’s toe, who yelped down the megaphone and glared at you.

“Now, Ms Y/L/N, do I need to remove you from the commentator box?” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut in and you smiled up at her sweetly.

“No, no, Professor,” you winced as your voice boomed out across the pitch. “It’s an honour to be here alongside Lee today. Apologies if the commentary is a bit stop-start; the censorship team have decided to swap commentators when commentary becomes too subjective—”

“Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Just giving a disclaimer, professor.” At her stern look, you sighed, passing the megaphone back to Lee.

“Y/N is,” Lee gave you a onceover and a cheeky grin, “both beauty and brains, as many of you already know. And according to the Hogwarts rumour mill, the Gryffindor captain is particularly appreciative of that fact.”

“Mr Jordan!”

You froze, mouth agape as you stared at him, your face flaming. He offered you the megaphone, but you shook your head, pressing your ice-cold fingers against your burning cheeks in a futile effort to cool the blush. Prick. Absolute bellend. You were going to kill him after this

“Sorry, sorry, Professor,” Lee turned back to the pitch, cheeky grin plastered onto his face. “And coming out onto the pitch today, we have the Gryffindors! Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Any of them catch your eye, Y/N?”

“I think the thing that’s catching my eye is Potter’s Firebolt,” you responded, giving him a withering look. “Chang is a good Seeker but at the end of the day, the question will be whether her Comet will be any match for the Firebolt. And look, here come the Ravenclaws; Burrow, Chang, Davies, Inglebee, Page, Samuels and Stretton. I do have to say, Ravenclaw’s not doing too well with gender diversity this year-”

“Ms Y/L/N.”

“Sorry, professor. It must be a great honour for Chang to be representing the female population of Ravenclaw house out here on the pitch, proving to every young Ravenclaw girl that they too can take on the might of the Gryffindor team.”

“Y/L/N!” Professor McGonagall chastised and you blinked innocently, passing the megaphone back to Lee.

“Y/N, you make a very interesting point,” Lee glanced at Professor McGonagall and thought twice about what he was going to say. Fortunately for all in the commentator’s box, the whistle blew. “They’re off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year’s World Championship—”

“Jordan, would you mind telling us what’s going on in the match?” interrupted Professor McGonagall.

You laughed,

“Right you are, Professor—just giving a bit of background information—the Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and —”

“Jordan!”

“Okay, okay.” Lee sighed, passing the megaphone over to you.

“Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor heading for goal…” your eyes scanned the field, “Samuels sending a nasty Bludger her way, but Weasley blocks it with a—ooh nice swing, George!”

“Y/N!”

Slightly too late you remembered the rules on impartiality. “Yes, sorry, Bell continues undeterred on her path to goal, dodging Davies and Stretton’s clumsy attempt at a Body Blow and—yes! scores! Ten-zero to Gryffindor! That was a beautiful knuckle ball from Katie Bell, straight past Page into the middle hoop.”

Your voice is drowned out by the raucous cheering that erupts from the Gryffindor section as you continue, eyes catching on Potter as he dives. “But no time for celebration, it looks like Potter has spotted the Snitch, diving down with Chang trailing after him on her Comet. It really is in these moments that we see the Firebolt shine—”

“Ms Y/L/N, could you return to commenting on the match?”

“Yes, professor,” you sighed. “And a nasty Bludger from Inglebee has Potter rolling to avoid it and he’s lost the Snitch. —Don’t worry, Potter, it’s clear that Firebolt beats Chang’s Comet by miles. — Up above, Page passes the Quaffle to Burrow, who moves to take up a Hawkshead Attacking Formation with Davies and Stretton, but a Bludger from Weasley has them scattering. Perhaps the more ambitious tactics ought to be saved for the big leagues. And Burrow passes to Davies—ooh, a lovely check from Spinnet means Gryffindor have possession and Ravenclaw haven’t even made it out of their goal end.

Spinnet is undertaking some excellent zig-zag manoeuvring, confounding both of Ravenclaw’s Beaters as they wildly send Bludgers down the pitch. Spinnet shoots and she scores! Thirty-zero to Gryffindor. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, that’s two goals from Bell and one from Spinnet. Maybe Ravenclaw should reevaluate the number of women on their team—”

“Y/L/N!”

You sighed and passed the megaphone back to Lee, taking a large gulp of the glass of water next to you as he winked, jumping straight back into the game.

“Perhaps in an attempt to defend their all-male Chaser lineup, Davies is racing down the pitch, narrowly avoiding a Bludger from Weasley with an annoyingly impressive Sloth Grip Roll. Johnson goes for the check, but Davies is clutching on tight to that Quaffle—he can’t risk passing it when there’s such precise defence work being undertaken by the Gryffindor Chasers. He’s nearing the Gryffindor goal end, he shoots and AND IT’S A BEAUTIFUL SAVE BY OLIVER WOOD! What a man!” Lee nudged you and you wrinkled your nose as him, choosing to ignore his infuriating jabs. “Wood passes to Johnson, Johnson to Bell, Bell back to Johnson, and what a stunner that girl is—”

“Jordan.”

Lee sighs, passing the megaphone back to you and you laugh. “And Johnson scores, putting it at fourty-zero to Gryffindor, meaning that all female Chasers on the pitch have scored. I’m thinking Ravenclaw really ought to reevaluate their gender stigma because right now it’s not looking too good for them. Page to Stretton, Stretton to Burrow, Burrow gets hit by a precise Bludger from Weasley; I mean, look at the swing on those boys. I think we’re all waiting for summer to come around and getting a close look at their-”

McGonagall looms over you as Fred glances at you and winks, and you have to cover your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“their… bat work without all this cloud. Johnson has the Quaffle, drops it down to Bell, who veers up, confusing Page and scores! That’s fifty-zero to Gryffindor; up twenty in under a minute! It’s in these early moments that you really start to see the tactics shine; Gryffindor have stuck to their tried-and-tested tactics, although it’s hard to beat such natural talent, and Ravenclaw seem to have been watching too many big league games – this isn’t exactly international-level Quidditch.”

“Ms Y/L/N.”

Lee took back the megaphone with a grin. “Ravenclaw has possession. Davies passes to Stretton, Stretton to Burrow, Burrow back to Stretton – these Ravenclaws are really keeping the Gryffindor Chasers on their toes as they fly down the pitch. Davies pulls forward, losing Spinnet and gets the ball off Stretton. Davies shoots—and Wood intercepts, knocking it straight into Johnson’s waiting hands with the back of his broom! Now that man, as I’m sure Y/N will agree, is certainly a Keeper.”

You rolled your eyes at his terrible pun, perfectly content to sit and watch as Lee gulped at the sight of McGonagall’s thunderous face. “Johnson speeds down the pitch, Weasley knocking a Bludger straight out of her path and into Samuels, Johnson shoots and scores! That’s seventy-zero to Gryffindor. And Page sends the ball to Burrow, who fumbles and drops it straight down to Spinnet, Spinnet passes to Bell, Bell shoots and scores yet again! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter’s really putting it through its paces now, see it turn - Chang’s Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt’s precision balance is really noticeable in these long—”

“JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!”

You reluctantly took the megaphone from McGonagall, who scowled at the pair of you. “Ravenclaw seems to have finally woken up and is demonstrating that tenacity and skill we’ve come to expect from them. Davies grabs the Quaffle, and he’s off like a shot! Look at him dance around the Gryffindor defence—oh, but wait! He’s got Katie Bell on his tail! Roger makes a daring pass to Stretton! He’s moving in—oh, and a well-placed Bludger from Ingleburn sends Wood scrambling. Ravenclaw scores; that’s ten-eighty to Ravenclaw. Davies is back to prove that an all-male lineup might be traditional for a reason.”

You glanced at Professor McGonagall, whose lips were pressed so tightly together they had turned white and winced. Well, she hadn’t interrupted you which you took as your sign to continue.

“Wood passes to Bell, Bell to Spinnet, Spinnet to Johnson, and—oof, that’s a nasty Bludger from Samuels. Ravenclaw’s Beaters certainly aren’t playing around. Burrow has possession, he shoots, and—what a brilliant save by Wood! You’d think he’d been practicing in his sleep! Johnson with the Quaffle, tearing down the pitch, leaving the Ravenclaw Chasers trailing in her dust—she shoots, and Page saves with a textbook example of Starfish and Stick. I have to say that these new fancy moves do look impressive when they actually pull them off.”

“Y/L/N.”

“What, professor? I’m being complimentary!”

“Switch.”

With a grumble, you handed the megaphone back to Lee. “Ravenclaw in possession, Burrow shoots and scores. That’s thirty-eighty to Ravenclaw, putting Gryffindor now only fifty points ahead. And Potter has set his eyes on something, speeding towards the Gryffindor goals with a deep concentration on his face; and look at that Firebolt go, it moves like a dream—Chang blocks Potter—HIT HER, HARRY—”

A cough from McGonagall interrupted Lee and he bit back some more colourful language. “And it looks like he’s lost sight of the Snitch again. Wood seems to be advising for some more aggressive manoeuvres; Y/N might know a thing or two about how he works off this pent-up rage off pitch.”

You elbowed Lee, who let out a muffled oof and allowed McGonagall to tug the megaphone out of his hands. McGonagall passed it back to you, and you picked up where Lee had left off. “With that Firebolt of his, Potter would have absolutely wrecked Chang and her Comet. The Quaffle is still in play though as both Seekers return to circling the pitch. It’s clear that Chang’s tactic is to rely on Potter to find the Snitch for her—although with a broom like hers, it’s a brave and perhaps foolish move… Potter dives! Has he seen the Snitch? No! Potter expertly executes a Wronski Feint—maybe Ravenclaw should be taking notes on how to execute high-level manoeuvres from him— Potter is off after something again, Chang hot on his tail—what’s that? DEMENTORS ON THE PITCH?! Potter has just executed one of the most flawless Patronuses I have ever seen—this boy is thirteen and executes O.W.L. level wand work with more skill than most of Fifth Year. Perhaps Potter might want to sit my Defence Against the Dark Arts exam for me—”

“Y/L/N!”

“But Potter hasn’t let the Dementors bother him, he’s almost there—POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS 200 TO 30! AN ASTOUNDING VICTORY BY GRYFFINDOR!”

You turned and pulled Lee into a hug, both jumping with glee as Madam Hooch’s whistle echoed round the stands. The air filled with roars from the Gryffindor crowd as they made their way onto the pitch to where the Gryffindor team was celebrating. You pulled back, pressed a kiss to Lee’s cheek and then looked him dead in the eye. “This does not mean I forgive you for your comments today.”

“Aw, come on, they were funny.”

You glared at him.

“Ms Y/L/N,” you turned towards Professor McGonagall’s voice. “I’m afraid I don’t think this arrangement will be suitable for the next match.”

You bowed your head. “I’m sorry to hear that, professor. I greatly enjoyed myself though.”

She sniffed. “Yes, well, your commentary today was both lacking in impartiality and focus.”

You shared a grin with Lee and chorused a “Sorry, professor” before running out of the stands and down to the pitch.

“Interesting commentary work today.” Oliver slipped into the empty spot next to you on the sofa, passing you a drink as he did, and you murmured a soft thanks.

“Well, Lee and I had a deal that I would be as poor a commentator as possible to convince Professor McGonagall to allow him sole control of the commentary again. I did enjoy myself though.”

Oliver laughed. “All of it?”

“Well, when I was speaking.” You shot a half-hearted glare at Lee, who merely smirked back at you. “Lee does enjoy the attention of the megaphone. But you know, I think it’s important to raise awareness about the lack of gender diversity on Ravenclaw’s team; it’s quite shocking really.”

Oliver just laughed at you, and you flushed, blaming the alcohol for the pink in your cheeks. Definitely wasn’t anything else. At all. And you refused to be the one to bring up Lee’s comments. Oliver could make that move if he fancied, but you’d laid your cards out perfectly clearly.

You sipped at your drink, coughing as it scorched your throat. “What the hell is in this?”

Oliver shrugged. “Fred’s concoction.”

You froze and looked up at your very intoxicated friend, who was intently pouring Ogden’s Old into a bucket. And then at the empty bottles scattered around him. “I don’t think I want to know what’s in this.”

“Probably for the best.”

You hummed in response, glancing at Oliver out of the corner of your eye, only to find him watching you intently. You frowned into your cup. Then winced a mouthful down, using it to bolster that Gryffindor courage you always seemed to lose around him, and made eye contact with him.

“Do I have something on my face?” Somehow you managed to confront him with the perfect level of nonchalance and teasing, or at least it felt as if you had. You couldn’t quite tell right now but judging by the pink tinging the tips of his ears, you had pulled it off.

“Uh, no,” he stuttered, tongue tripping over itself as he worked to dig himself out of the hole. “I.. Just... You look good tonight, Y/N.”

You blinked. Of all the things to come out of Oliver’s mouth, that hadn’t been what you were expecting. And then your brain caught up with itself and you felt all of your blood relocate itself to your face.

“Thanks,” you murmured, slightly frozen to the spot. Drink. You needed more drink. You were far too sober to be smooth and seductive right now. You eyed the rest of your cup, took a deep breath and then polished it off, to the sound of whooping as Fred caught your movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Fred tutted, stumbling over to you with a fresh glass in hand. “No empties allowed here!”

You rolled your eyes at him, accepting the cup nonetheless and raising an eyebrow when he continued to hover over you with an expectant look. Oliver shifted awkwardly next to you and Fred eyed him, eyebrows knitting together as the cogs squeaked round in his brain.

“Hm.” Was all he offered, finished off with a dramatic turn, robes whirling round him.

How strange. You said as much to Oliver, who just nodded, abnormally reticent around you, and you wrinkled your nose.

“Y/N.” Your name burst out from his lips, and he looked almightily like he was regretting saying it. Slowly, you nodded, tilting your head to the side and letting your hair fall away from your neck as you did. “What Lee said today…”

You froze, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. His eyes snapped to the movement and then back up to your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as the silence stretched, and you felt far too warm all of a sudden, deeply aware of the fire roaring away and the alcohol racing through your blood.

"What about it?" you asked, voice softer than you intended. You had meant to come across as bold and all devil-may-care, but inside your nerves were screaming. If Lee had destroyed your friendship with his words today, you were going to kill him. Break out your nastiest Bat-Bogey-Hex. Because you didn’t mind if he didn’t like you (that was a lie), as long as you had him as your friend.

Oliver cleared his throat, looking for all his worth as if a particularly rabid Bludger was racing towards him. His hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly. "Lee... well, he wasn’t completely off the mark, was he?"

You blinked. It seemed as if your blood had decided to permanently relocate to your face, which was fine, totally fine, apart from the fact that you hadn’t drunk enough for that to be a good enough excuse. "Which part, exactly? Lee had a lot to say today."

Oliver exhaled sharply, then laughed quietly. You didn’t know what the joke was. You felt sick. Maybe you had drunk too much. He leaned forward slightly and it took everything in you not to flinch away, because you knew what was coming and you really, really couldn’t stomach the words you knew were about to exit his mouth, the ‘oh, you’re like a sister to me’ and the laugh you’d have to muster in response.

"The part where he said, well," he chuckled again, “that I’m particularly appreciative of your brains and beauty.”

You smiled half-heartedly, knowing it didn’t reach your eyes, hoping you’d have an excuse to run away as soon as possible and then avoid Oliver for the rest of the year. Because it would be fine, he was graduating, and you could not pretend that he didn’t exist.

"I wasn’t planning on saying anything," Oliver admitted, his voice low, almost a murmur, "but watching you today, laughing, talking with everyone... I couldn’t help it. And now I’m sitting here, just... regretting not telling you sooner."

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The room spun slightly—maybe from Fred’s drink, maybe from the confession hanging in the air. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You shut your mouth again.

"I’m sorry," he continued quickly, jumping into the silence you’d left hanging in the air. Fuck. You’d left it too long to respond, what was the right thing to say? "And I don’t want to make things weird. If you don’t feel the same, it’s fine. I just—" He paused, running a hand through his hair, and part of you just wanted to grab him and pull him in for a kiss. "I couldn’t sit here tonight and not tell you anymore."

You stared at him. Come on, you were meant to be witty and quick with your words, not speechless with your mouth glued shut as the man you’d be pining after for months confessed his attraction to you. You’d dreamed of hearing something like this almost every single night before you went to sleep (you did not care if that was unhealthy) but now you felt so, so unprepared.

"Oliver," you started, your voice breaking ever so slightly, "I..." You faltered for a second, eyes widening at the sight of him wincing. "I fancy you too. I mean, obviously.”

“Obviously?” He echoed slowly.

“Yeah, obviously. I mean, I thought you knew already.” You laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

He stared at you. And then, a slow smile spread across his face, the kind that made your heart flip. "Really?"

"Really," you nodded, heart thudding in your chest as you waited for someone to jump out and yell that it was all some kind of prank. You knew none of your housemates would ever be that cruel, but really this had to be some kind of dream. A particularly vivid drunk dream.

For a second, neither of you said anything, just sitting there in the glow of the fire. And then you stuck out your arm. “Pinch me.”

“What?” Oliver asked with a bemused smile.

“Pinch me. I just need to be sure that I’m not dreaming right now.”

Then, with a laugh that was finally genuine, Oliver reached out and lightly pinched your arm. “Feel real enough to you?”

You blinked at him, a grin breaking its way across your face. And then he took your hand, his fingers warm and steady against yours, and you forgot how to breathe again.

“Yeah,” you murmured after a good half second, realising that he was still waiting for a response while you attempted to deal with the fact that he was holding your hand. Merlin, what were you, eight in the playground again? “So.”

“So,” Oliver echoed teasingly, lips pulling up into a smirk that made you want to snog him silly. “What do you say about going to Hogsmeade together? Just the two of us, of course.”

You took a breath, just to calm the fluttering butterflies that had only just started to settle down again. “I’d love that.”

A shaky breath left you as you beamed into your cup, trying to hide the giddy grin threatening to split your face in two. Oliver laughed quietly and you glanced up, feeling slightly embarrassed at the look of amusement on his face, but it was far too outweighed by your glee to even properly register.

“I guess we’ve got Lee to thank, haven’t we?" he said, grinning at you with a squeeze of your hand.

"Let’s not tell him that, though," you groaned, leaning your head against his shoulder. "He doesn’t need a bigger head than he already has."

Oliver chuckled, and his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles. "Deal."

#oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x you #oliver wood/reader #oliver wood/you #fred weasley #george weasley #lee jordan

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