Chapter Text
The crowds’ roar in his ears and the freezing cold weather would be a distraction to most people but not to Oliver, all his mind could focus on was making sure the quaffle didn’t fly passed his and into a goal. The roars didn’t even register in his mind. Not the boos when he saved a goal, not the cheers when his team scored on the Cannons.
They were well into the season, and Puddlemere was doing pretty great. Oliver had been on Puddlemere for six years, and had been starting Keeper for two of them. It was close to his dream to play for Scotland’s team. It was still a dream at this point but he was being hailed as an up and coming Keeper. He was still doing his favourite thing in the world as a job. Puddlemere had been part of his dream since he was a kid too. That’s why he overworked his team when he attended Hogwarts, he had to look good to Puddlemere if he wanted to make the team.
He saw the Seeker, Jen look like she saw the snitch. She got the wild look in her eye and the raised eyebrows she always did. Like she was a cat he caught sight of prey. His eyes went back to the Cannons’ Chasers who seemed to have realised she’d seen it but had possession of the quaffle. It was a close game at this point and could be anyone’s at this point.
He hovered between the goals, his brows drawing together as he kept sight of the Chasers. They were fast but he’d dealt with faster. And when one shot towards his left, he went right for it. Confidence was in his chest as he flew towards it. He reached his arm out but as his fingers barely brushed against it, a bludger hit him right in his hip.
He recoiled a little bit, the quaffle easily flying through the hoop as pain. Nothing was broken, at this point he knew the difference between a bruise and a broken bone. He recovered quickly enough and his eyes went back in search of the quaffle. He was relieved to see that Puddlemere had taken hold of it from the Cannons.
His eyes shot to Jen and saw that she and the Cannons’ Seeker had both taken sight of the Snitch and were neck and neck at this point. He knew Jen was fast so hopefully she’d get it. She was one of the fastest flyer in the league and she always had great control. His eyes went back to the quaffle and saw Corey score a goal. The crowd cheered at her and he felt relief from that. The game could end soon but if Jen didn’t get the snitch they could try to get ahead by scoring goals.
The Cannons got a hold of the quaffle and were already zooming towards him, he kept his eyes on them, he wasn’t going to let them score this time. He was ready to save it but his concentration broke from the sound of the whistle.
He looked quickly at Jen and saw she had the snitch in her hand and was grinning wildly. Relief hit his chest and whooped his arm in the air, doing a victory lap around the pitch and hooking arm around Corey, who laughed as she whooped too.
Jen was flying around the pitch in joy and hugged him too when she passed him, laughing in absolute joy.
Oliver’s eyes went to where his family would be sitting. It was easy to find as it was the front row. He saw his parents and sister Amelia grinning. He felt a knot in his stomach when he realised Shane wasn’t there. Although, he wasn’t surprised. This was typical behaviour for his fiancé. So typical he didn’t know why he expected him to show up at all. He’d rather spend time breathing down his neck to get a different job, one that would be somewhere like the ministry that he could work in until retirement age. Shane didn’t seem to understand his love for the game. Even people who enjoyed it somewhat thought he was a little too passionate. Maybe he should be with someone who understood that.
He didn’t let his frustration get to him. Mostly because it was time to go to celebrate the win at a pub.
But maybe what frustrated him most was that he didn’t care he wasn’t there.
…
The pub was a little crowded when the team got there. It was mostly Puddlemere fans who were still on the high of the win. Oliver was too. He’d given his family a quick hello before running off with Jen and Corey. He was surprised to see Amelia’s husband wasn’t there but she said he had to work late. Jacob was a muggle and still hadn’t completely gotten the grasp of quidditch but he was good support when he was able to make it. He understood it would be difficult to get away from work, especially when the reason was his brother in law was playing in a sport his boss would have never heard of.
Amelia was pretty lucky that their parents were accepting of muggles. They’d never expressed concern about their grandchildren being half-bloods. Neither Oliver nor his sister expected prejudice from them, they were completely against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s beliefs. His parents went on about how much they loved Jacob.
Their thoughts on Oliver being engaged to Shane was… somewhat complicated. Not, throw him out of the house for being gay complicated. But still, at least a little complicated.
Shane would usually come to the pub with him after games. His team had said they liked him. But Shane could be somewhat of a workaholic. He worked at the ministry and always brought plenty of paperwork home. As if he wanted to bring work home with him. Oliver couldn’t comprehend that. It was like back at Hogwarts when he’d have to bring piles of homework to the Gryffindor common room. His final two years when he was trapped doing N.E.W.Ts was by far the worst part of his schooling.
He decided to keep his mind on Jen and her girlfriend Luce. It didn’t matter if Shane wasn’t there. He liked spending time with the team anyway. He’d always liked Jen’s girlfriend as well. She was really sweet and he liked how supportive she was of Jen. He can’t think of a game she didn’t come to. He’d always see her in the bleachers cheering her on.
Thankfully, neither of them had asked him if Shane was coming. They had an idea of what Shane was like. Not that he occasionally discouraged his entire career but that he sometimes got overwhelmed with work that he had to miss his games.
That was the nice way of putting it at least. The way to put it that didn’t make Shane look like he was unsupportive asshole that Oliver was more or less settling for. Maybe using ‘settling’ wasn’t the best way to put it. He’d been the one to propose to Shane after all.
Oliver tried to keep his attention on Jen talking about her and Luce’s trip to Australia. She kept mostly on how the weather was so different, since they had gone during their winter to avoid the hot weather. He’d never been much of a traveller so it was interesting to hear other people’s stories.
“Wood,” a voice cut into one of Jen’s stories. Oliver knew that voice and decided to pretend he hadn’t heard him.
“Yeah, so what happened?” he prompted.
Jen glanced where the voice came from but seemed to decide to continue. “Uh, so, it was far too cold to go to any beaches,” she said. “We met some cool witches though.”
He nodded. “I don’t know if I would like beaches,” he laughed. “But Australia is probably the best place to go for them.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but she got cut off by the same voice again. “Wood, ya hear me?”
Jen deflated a little, glancing at Luce who was frowning. He could already see him approaching in the corner of his eye.
He sighed. “Just go, I can handle him.”
“You sure?” Jen asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. He doesn’t scare me.”
Luce looked reluctant but Jen took her hand and walked away.
Oliver puffed his chest and turned to him. “What do you fucking want, Roberts?”
Chad Roberts was the Cannons’ Keeper and more or less, a proper wanker. He would call him his biggest rival in the league. At little bit of a stretch since the Cannons weren’t Puddlemere’s biggest rivals, that was more the Falcons. But he got along fine with their Keeper. She kept everything on the pitch.
Roberts wasn’t anything like that. He was the type who would try his hardest to intimidate him, off and on the pitch. Before and after each game, without fail, no matter who won that game. It’d become routine at this point. Not one he was fond of at all though. Roberts was the all talk type of bloke. He’d hurl whatever insult came to him, mostly hollow ones that had to do with his keeping, or point out every time he was hit by a bludger.
Oliver actually found it hilarious. Instead of focussing on himself and his own keeping skills, he cared more about tearing him down.
A smirk was on Roberts lips as he approached him. “Well, your keeping wasn’t so terrible today.”
Yep, his usual same and tired insults. “Enough for us to win,” he shrugged.
“Well, I’m sure that bludger left a nasty bruise on you, huh?” he smirked.
It was like he planned this shit out. “Is that just an excuse to see my abs?” he smirked, raising his brow. “Because sorry to disappoint but I’m spoken for.”
Usually he wouldn’t resort to those sort of jokes but he might as well give a comeback he wouldn’t expect. That way he could get away when he was surprised and go back to talking to Jen. After getting alcohol to calm his nerves.
And that idea seemed to work, as Roberts seemed surprised by the comment. He smirked and went to leave but he was only a few steps away from him before he spoke.
“God, I’ll always wonder why they let a poof play.”
He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back to him. The comment got the attention of a few people around them who had gone dead silent. Clearly, they couldn’t believe what Roberts had said either. Or they wanted to see if this escalated into a fight.
Oliver wasn’t an aggressive person. He had his buttons like everyone else and push him hard enough, it wouldn’t end well.
Which was why it wasn’t a good thing anger was bubbling in his chest.
He walked a few steps towards him. “What the, fuck did you just call me?” He punctuated each word, venom leaking in his voice. Because there were things he’d let slide, there were things he could ignore and let go.
But anything to do with him being some pathetic man because he was gay was the one thing he couldn’t let slide.
Roberts however, bit off more than he could chew. And he hadn’t seemed to have realised yet. “I said what I said,” he snarled, a sadistic grin crossing his face. “I get that you’re a poofta and all but there’s no need to act like one.”
His fist clenched and he gritted his teeth. He stepped forward again so they were practically nose to nose.
“Call me that again,” he said, his tone low and warning. “And I swear to god you will regret it.”
“Oliver,” he heard Jen say behind him. He knew he should listen and leave well enough alone. He knew Roberts wasn’t worth the effort. He knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of him. That’s all he wanted, probably because he knew who was the better Keeper of the pair.
He should’ve just turned to leave, maybe just go home to Shane. That was what the reasonable, rational person would do.
But Oliver was the opposite of that.
“You heard what I said,” Roberts said, his voice low. “You’re a goddamn poofta and I don’t know how they ever let the likes of you into the league.”
His fist meeting his jaw was by far the most satisfying thing he could do.
“Oliver!” Jen shouted.
“Wood!” someone else yelled. He realised it was his teammate Will.
He didn’t have any regrets, and he got a sick joy when he saw he’d made his nose bleed and a bruise already start to form on his jaw.
“You fucking–” Roberts growled but Oliver cut him off.
“You really want to call me that again?” he bit. He only got a glare in response.
He took a deep breath and turned to leave. He heard Jen call his name but he just stormed out of the bar. Once he was outside and he had taken a few deep breaths to calm down, he Disapparated home.
When he was home, he saw Shane at the dinner table, still with paperwork. He’d assume by now he would be close to done but apparently not.
“I’m home,” he said. He would think the crack of him Apparating into the room should get his attention but he kept his head down.
“Yeah, I heard, Oliver,” he said, not even looking up as he got more ink on his quill. “How was the game?”
You would know if you were there. He thought bitterly. “We won,” he said instead.
“That’s good,” he replied. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, I’m swamped and all.”
He gave him a fake smile, ignoring how he hadn’t sounded genuine at all. “It’s fine,” he said. Maybe he didn’t care at all that his own fiancé didn’t come to his game when he well enough could have. He wasn’t held back at work and if he really had too much work there was the entire weekend to work.
Oh the worst part was that he didn’t care how little Shane cared. How could he just not care? It was like he wouldn’t care if he walked right out the door right then and never came back. Which maybe wasn’t the ideal way to think about your fiancé.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” Shane asked, staring at his hand, clearly worried.
Confused, Oliver looked at his hand and saw the bruised knuckle. There were a few cuts, maybe from getting Roberts’ teeth a little.
“Oh,” he shrugged, dropping his hand down. “Cannons’ Keeper called me a poofta, one thing led to another and I punched him in the face.”
His eyes widened and he stood up. “Are you serious? Why the hell would you do that?”
He shrugged. “He egged me on, and honestly, he kind of deserved it.”
He shook his head. “No, Oliver,” he said. “He didn’t.”
He gaped a little at him. “Are you serious? He called me a poofta three times. You think I’d let him get away with that?”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “He shouldn’t have said it, you’re right about that. Bashing him isn’t the answer though.”
“Well, I think I should stand up to myself. Especially that kind of homophobic bullshit.”
He clenched his jaw. “Maybe you should’ve just walked away instead of letting him egg you on.”
His teeth sunk into his lip in anger. “You weren’t there so maybe don’t go throwing around an opinion on the situation.” Even though technically he could’ve walked away and didn’t. But maybe also if Shane was there he could’ve stopped him, put some sense in his head. But Shane wouldn’t let him hold that against him.
Shane took a deep breath. “Oliver, I’m sorry I didn’t come. I’ll try to make the next game–”
“You said that last time.”
He pressed his lips together in a fine line. “Oh, so that’s what this is about, huh?” he asked. “That I wouldn’t go to your boring as shit game.”
“We met when I was on the reserves,” he argued. “You knew this was my dream.”
“You were also eighteen–” he began but rage got to Oliver again.
“So were you!” He acted as if he had the world figured out at fifteen. As if they weren’t the same age and he somehow knew everything there was to know about the world when they met.
But Shane didn’t seem to hear him. “–I thought you would come to your senses and realise you needed a real job. Not you flying around on some broomstick.”
He knew Shane hated sports. Really hated sports, actually. And honestly, Oliver would be okay with that if he didn’t use every opportunity to make him feel terrible for loving quidditch as much as he did. For wanting it to be his life focus. Why couldn’t he just be supportive of him like other players’ partners were. He seemed to care more about making him think his one true passion was pathetic and not worth anyone’s time.
He wasn’t always like this. At one point he actually showed up to games, and when he didn’t he seemed genuinely sorry about it and wished him good luck, and when we got home would ask for a play by play.
Half the time he asked himself why he put up with it. He wasn’t sure anymore. But he loved him. He was sure he loved him. He was the first guy he dated, not the first one he liked. He was the first guy to actually not be an unrequited crush. Maybe that was why he was so hard to let go. He knew that might not be the healthiest line of feeling, nor was it something that could end well if they somehow got into something they couldn’t fix.
But they were engaged, he asked him to marry him for a reason. Because he loved him. He did want to marry him. He was sure he did. He’d been so emotionally vulnerable with him and the thought of it being for nothing terrified him.
He took a deep breath. “Forget it,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”
“Oliver!” he called as he stormed off to their room, closing the door behind him and finding it difficult to not slam it behind himself.