***

The day before the match, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit. [PoA UK p. 127]

***

The wind lashed the falling water against the windows as he tried to look out toward the pitch. Nothing was visible beyond the soaked glass and reflected torchlight. Oliver Wood leaned his forehead against the pane, wishing he could prove that Malfoy's injury was faked; that would wipe the smug expression off the spoilt little prat's spoilt little face. Flint's, too.

If he owned the riches of all the Slytherin side put together, he would pay every last Knut to see that pointy-faced little Governor's son get his precious blond hair soaked in mud.

But instead, the Slytherins got to stay warm and dry, and Gryffindor was blindsided by this match with Hufflepuff.

'Bugger of a storm, isn't it?'

Oliver sprung back a step, to where he could see the other boy reflected in the window. He didn't turn around to meet Diggory's gaze, but looked his reflection in the eyes, instead.

'"Bugger" is the word, I think,' agreed the Gryffindor captain.

Diggory took in his morose expression. 'It's a right mess about the match, isn't it?'

Wood turned around then, stepping closer to his adversary. 'We're ready for you, you know. Don't think we aren't.'

Diggory straightened his shoulders. He didn't step back, or raise his hands in surrender, the way someone might be expected to do when confronted by an angry, irrational person who was at least three inches taller and an inch or two broader in the shoulders. He merely smiled a disarming smile and said, 'It's a worse situation for us, you know. We weren't even expecting to play a match for another two weeks.'

Wood looked at the other boy for a long moment. Of course, it hadn't occurred to him that the change in the schedule was more of a disadvantage for the other side. He'd been so focused on winning the Cup. He'd been so focused on it, since he'd got on the team as a third-year. He'd been desperate for it since he'd become Captain in Fifth Year, and Harry had joined the team.

It didn't really matter, did it, how disadvantageous the situation was for Hufflepuff. What mattered was that Flint was getting away with his same underhanded tricks, again, and there was nothing Wood could do to fix it.

'It's enough to drive you mad, isn't it,' said Diggory then, 'how Flint seems to get away with the same tricks over and over again?'

Wood stared at him.

'Yeah,' he stammered. 'Yeah, it does.'

Diggory flashed him that smile again, that annoying, disarming, not-quite-readable smile, and stepped around him toward the windows.

'It'll be impossible to play in this, won't it?' he said.

Wood narrowed his eyes at this boy, this opposing Captain, who seemed to be trying to work some sort of psychic trickery with him by acting as though they were in the same boat, as if this change in schedule and this weather weren't a direct challenge to Wood's personal goal of winning the Cup this year.

He caught his thoughts, and shook his head to clear them. Perhaps the team had a point when they called him 'obsessed.' But what was Diggory saying now?

'... hard to see in this weather.' Diggory looked around as he finished his sentence.

'Hmm?'

'I said it doesn't seem fair to Harry. Glasses tend to fog up, and make it really hard to see ...'

'Harry will be fine,' Wood snapped, cutting him off.

Diggory looked at him appraisingly. 'Yes, of course,' he replied quietly, still looking Wood in the eye.

Why did he keep doing that?

Wood broke the gaze, looking out the window again. Or at the window, at least, since that's as far as he could see. Diggory followed his eyes.

'It'll be a mess out there by now, doesn't it?' he commented.

Wood glared at him again. 'Look, what are you doing here, anyway? Isn't Hufflepuff on the other side of the castle?'

Diggory shrugged. 'Same thing you are, I suppose. Trying to see the condition of the pitch, so I know what to expect tomorrow.'

'Right,' answered Wood, feeling less comfortable around this boy by the minute. 'Well, it's obvious we can't see anything from here, so you might as well move along, then.'

What was wrong with him? He was never this rude. Only being around Diggory was making him itchy, and he suspected it was intentional.

Diggory smiled that who-me-I'm-innocent smile again. It was pissing Wood off.

'Alright then,' he replied lightly. 'I'll let you know what I find out.'

Wood gritted his teeth, trying with all his might not to fall into the trap, but it was no use. He couldn't help asking: 'Find out about what?'

He laughed. The impossibly sunny-disposition-even-in-a-giant-rainstorm laughed then, and shook his head at Wood. 'About the condition of the pitch, of course. Or did you want to come with me?'

'Go out after dark? Are you mad?'

'It's not dark yet, Wood. I mean, it is, but it's only four o'clock. It's only this ruddy storm that makes it look as though it's night already.'

'What are you playing at, Diggory?'

Diggory had the audacity to look amused. 'You know you should learn to trust people, right? Not all other Quidditch captains are like Flint.'

And with that, Diggory marched past Wood and down the stairs toward the Entrance Hall, never sparing a look back to see whether the other Captain was following.

Which, of course, he was.

***

'Eugh, this mud is thick!'

Diggory laughed at Wood, who was calf-deep in a soft spot near one set of goalposts.

'It's a good job we get to fly, then, isn't it?'

Wood shot Diggory a withering look. Although he would never admit it, he didn't at all relish the idea of hovering near three fifty-foot lightning rods for who-knew-how-long the following afternoon. He glanced apprehensively upwards.

Diggory caught the glance.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'The lightning will only strike something that's attached to the ground. So flying is actually one of the safest places to be.'

Wood scoffed. He wasn't sure, though, whether to refute Diggory's claim about what lightning would and would not strike, or to make a show of not caring. In the long run, he couldn't decide, so he merely glared off into the distance.

After a few minutes, Diggory walked off toward the other goalposts. Wood stood, sinking, in his mud puddle, wondering why in Merlin's name he was out there in the first place.

He had a feeling it had to do with that annoyingly perky grin on Diggory's face. He decided he's better go have another look, to be sure.

Diggory was standing at the opposite goalpost, knee-deep in a similar puddle to the one at the other end, by the time Wood caught up with him. He didn't even see him until they were only a few feet apart.

'I think it's raining harder, if that's possible,' said Diggory amiably when he came into view. 'A little help?'

Wood stared for a moment before he realised that Diggory was stuck knee-deep in that puddle, and was holding his hand out as if, for all the world, he never doubted for a minute that Wood would give him a hand.

Wood's stomach felt funny. His mind was all muzzy, too, as though he'd had too much Butterbeer. He extended his hand to grasp on to Diggory's, wondering what it was that had made him hesitate, even for a second.

The strong, rain-slicked digits clasped onto Wood's own, slipped and grasping until they found purchase by wrapping thumb and fingers around Wood's wrist, and Wood's heart skipped a beat, wondering what it was about a simple helping hand that was making his chest tight.

He caught a flash of something in Diggory's eyes, in the split-second before the other boy pulled free and lost his balance, toppling them both over in the mud.

'Ah! Sorry!' said Diggory cheerfully, with that same light dancing in his eyes, in the moment that he lay on top of Wood, catching his breath.

Wood's chest felt even tighter, so he didn't even notice that the backs of his robes were soaked through. All he could feel was that the warm weight wasn't on top of him anymore; Diggory had sprung up as quickly as he'd fallen.

Diggory laughed again, offering a hand now to Wood. 'I'll try not to fall over this time,' he said with that annoying smile.

Wood glared at him, and pushed himself up without help. Diggory cocked an eyebrow, retracting his hand without comment.

He did speak, however, after he'd had a chance to look Wood over.

'You're filthy,' he said plainly. 'Come on, you can't go back in the castle like that. If Filch sees you, he'll give you detention for months. You know how he gets in this weather.'

Diggory's earlier comment, the one about not all Quidditch Captains being like Slytherins, still rang loudly in Wood's ears, which is probably why he actually followed the other boy toward the changing rooms at the edge of the pitch.

***

'Eugh!' exclaimed Diggory, as they stepped into the clean, well-lit structure. 'It's horrible out there! How are we supposed to play tomorrow?'

'We'll be fine,' said Wood stiffly, pretending not to notice the way Diggory's shirt clung to his chest when he threw off his soggy robes.

Diggory eyed him curiously. 'You take Quidditch awfully seriously, don't you?'

Wood was taken aback. For a moment, he couldn't think of an answer.

'It is serious,' he replied at last. 'It's my fifth year now on this ruddy team, and no Cup to show for it.'

'But it's a game,' began Diggory.

Wood stared at him, scandalised. 'It's Quidditch,' he said, interrupting, as though this were the final word on the subject.

When Diggory looked as though, perhaps, further words might be necessary, Wood, thought about it some more.

'Look, this is what I can do,' he said after a long pause. 'Some people, like this one third-year witch in Gryffindor, Hermione Granger, or like Percy Weasley, they're good with books and exams. Other people, like Fred and George Weasley, they're funny and easy with people. You're good at all sorts of Charms, I've seen you. Me, I can Keep.'

The direct stare Diggory was giving Wood now was even more disarming than the smile had been.

'You've seen me doing Charms?'

Wood choked a bit, feeling pinned in Diggory's gaze like a bug under a magnifying glass. Why wasn't there any air in this changing room?

He fought with the clasp of his robes, trying to free the material from his throat, but his hands were numb from the cold and damp. He fumbled, but couldn't make it open.

'Let me,' said Diggory, and suddenly he was so close, Wood could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. He couldn't look away.

His throat constricted even more as Diggory's fingers worked at the catch, too close to his skin, and why was he still staring deep into his eyes?

'There.' A warm puff of breath accompanied the word, feathering over Wood's lips as the catch fell away and his robes pooled around him on the bench.

Wood blinked, and when he opened his eyes, all he could see were Diggory's.

Diggory looked thoughtful, almost hesitant. 'Are you - ?' he began, then broke off without moving.

'Am I - ?' echoed Wood breathlessly, still unable to look away.

Diggory blinked then, and shook his head, stepping back.

'We don't want to catch cold before tomorrow, do we?' he asked quietly, stripping off the rest of his clothing as he grabbed a towel and headed for the showers in the back of the structure.

Wood was certain there was a reason he probably should not follow, but something about the flash of creamy, pale skin disappearing around the corner, made it impossible for him to do otherwise.

He shook himself out of his odd state of bewilderment, and removed all of his clothing. He did the best he could to hang it up, throwing a couple of Scourgifys and a drying charm or two at the spots that needed them most. Diggory really was much better at them, but Wood's Charms would serve.

As he was reaching for one of the thick, fluffy towels that was stacked on the end of the bench, he spotted the rumpled pile where Diggory had left all of his garments.

Wood was feeling shaken by his whole attitude, all afternoon. He had never been as easygoing or as popular as the Weasley twins, but he was usually friendlier than he felt he'd been toward Diggory, and he couldn't understand why. He'd thought at first that it was his competitiveness that had kept him from wanting to 'fraternise with the enemy,' as it were, but there was something much more ephemeral that put him off-balance when he was around this particular Hufflepuff.

Still, he wasn't a jerk. Wood picked up Diggory's clothing, item by item, and treated it the same way he had his own. It was the least he could do.

By the time Wood reached the showers, the room was full of steam. Diggory was humming to himself softly as he lathered himself under a nozzle on the left-hand wall. He caught Wood's eye, smiled, and turned away out of something like decorum.

Wood stopped and stared. He knew it wasn't polite, that it was downright creepy, but he couldn't take his eyes off Diggory's form. The creamy skin was flushed with the heat of the water, which ran down the muscular lines of Diggory's body in slithering rivulets. It pooled at the base of his spine, slipping into the crack of his arse; it clung in droplets to the curling hair on his toned legs.

Diggory closed his eyes and shook his head under the stream from the nozzle. Water flew each and every way from his soaking, dark-ash locks. Suddenly, the eyes opened, and Wood realised too late how openly he'd been staring.

He also realised how evident it was that he'd been impressed by the view.

Flushing furiously, he dropped his towel onto a hook, and hurried to a nozzle as far from Diggory's as possible.

Wood was mortified. He turned the water on at it's hottest setting, punishingly scalding himself for his shameful display. It wasn't exactly a secret that he fancied blokes, but it wasn't common knowledge, either. He'd only had those two, brief, tender kisses with Percy, two years earlier before he'd taken up with Penelope. Wood scowled at the memory of Percy's face when he'd informed him that he was very sorry, but he just didn't feel that way about him, after all.

Somewhere deep in the depths of his heart, Wood was aware that his focus on Quidditch had something to do with his inexperience in other physical activities. He'd seen all of his classmates pairing off, but he'd been too shy to approach anyone he'd ever fancied. It was easier to concentrate on training the side at Quidditch.

Wood inhaled sharply as a shower-slicked arm snaked its way around his waist, pulling his back close against a muscled chest and a pair of lips that pressed into the place where his neck met his shoulders.

'What - !' was all he was able to choke out before the hand slid up to his cheek, turning his face to meet a hot, hungry kiss.

Wood could almost feel the animal reaction in the base of his brain, which shut off all rational thought and forced his mouth to open, welcoming the tongue that parted his lips and slid past his teeth. He twisted around in the slippery embrace, catching the other body around the waist, and gasping at the impact of a hardened arousal against his own.

His eyes flew open at that moment. Diggory's were still closed, his face relaxed in the rapture of the moment.

Diggory.

Wood yelped and pushed back, away from his opponent. This couldn't be happening, not now, not the night before a match.

He couldn't have it off with the other side's Captain, especially when he'd never done this before.

Diggory's looked stricken. 'Oh, Merlin, Wood, I'm so sorry. I thought - but I was wrong, I can see.'

Wood could only stare, as the exquisite form of the opposing Seeker backed away.

'I'm really sorry, Wood. I just - look, I didn't mean to upset you, alright?'

Wood nodded mutely. Diggory seemed to take this as a sort of acceptance, and smiled. 'I'll go then? See you tomorrow, at the match ... '

When he'd disappeared from view, Wood leaned his forehead against the wet tiles and sighed deeply.

At the match.

***

The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Wood's usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn't come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him. [PoA UK p. 131]

***

Wood hadn't slept at all the night before. His mind had been filled with the sensation of those hands sliding over his skin. He'd been so impossibly hard, he winced with every shift of the sheets over his body, and yet he couldn't bring himself to solve the problem manually. He had clenched his eyes shut, forced himself to breath slowly, and thought about Professor Snape in Longbottom's grandmother's dress, until his distraction wilted so he could lie comfortably and stare at the ceiling.

Even then, he hadn't slept at all.

It had been torture to step inside the changing rooms that morning, to see the couple of spots of mud that he'd missed when cleaning up the night before. They were so tiny as to be invisible to anyone else, but Wood knew they were there, and he knew why.

He nearly stumbled as he walked out onto the pitch, flanked by his teammates. If only they knew how close he'd come to letting them down.

He looked up in time to see Hufflepuff striding across from the other side, lead by Diggory. Wood couldn't breathe when he looked into that face. He felt as though the entire assembly of students and staff could read his mind.

***

The captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded. [PoA UK pp. 131-132]

***

As soon as the whistle blew, Wood kicked off toward the Gryffindor goalposts. He avoided all eye-contact with Diggory, thanking Merlin for the fact that Keepers and Seekers had little, if any, interaction in the course of a match. He kept an eye on Diggory, though. He told himself it was because it was his job, as Captain, to keep track of everything happening in the match, but he also knew he was watching the opposing Seeker more closely than he ever had before.

Wood's attention was snapped back to the game when he saw two blurs of canary yellow hurtling toward him. Too late, he saw the Quaffle shoot toward the farthest hoop.

Wood was so angry with himself, he could tear his broomstick to bits in midair. It didn't matter than his own team had already scored six goals, so they were still fifty points up. What mattered was that he'd missed a shot for completely unacceptable reasons.

He signaled Madam Hooch for a time-out. Harry looked lost up there, anyway, in all the rain. They could all use a break.

***

'Harry!' came Wood's anguished yell from the Gryffindor goalposts. 'Harry, behind you!'

Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the pitch, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them ... [PoA UK p. 133]

***

That Hermione Granger really was a marvel, thought Wood as he kicked off from the sodden pitch again, returning to his place by the goalposts. Now that Harry could see, the match was guaranteed to go to Gryffindor. He was so energised by the thought, he didn't have any trouble taking his mind off thoughts of Diggory in the showers, and concentrating completely on the game.

Harry, however, was looking somewhat off. He was staring at the stands, at a point Wood couldn't see through the gloom, and as Wood watched in horror, Harry's broom dropped a few feet suddenly. He was ready to call another time-out and race to his teammate's rescue, when he saw Harry right himself, wiping his fringe from his eyes.

Just then, a streak of yellow caught his attention. Diggory was racing the Snitch, and Harry hadn't even seen it!

'Harry! Harry, behind you!' he bellowed, and for a moment, as his Seeker reacted, Wood thought the moment had been saved.

Before he could exhale his relief, though, Wood felt the chill run up his spine. He watched, helplessly, as Harry convulsed once, then slumped bonelessly from his broom.

As the melee broke out below, Dumbledore and everyone else racing onto the Pitch, Wood was the only one who saw a yellow-clad arm raised in triumph, a tiny golden ball clutched in its fist.

***

'Diggory got the Snitch,' said George. 'Just after you fell. He didn't realise what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a re-match. But they won fair and square ... even Wood admits it.'

'Where is Wood?' said Harry, suddenly realising he wasn't there.

'Still in the showers,' said Fred. 'We think he's trying to drown himself.' [PoA UK p. 135]

***

Wood stared into the billows of steam, letting the scalding water stream over his head and down his face and chest. He knew the rest of the team had gone to see Harry, and he wished he could do the same.

The argument with Madam Hooch kept replaying in his mind. Diggory's eyes had pleaded with Wood as the Hufflepuff Captain had tried to change the ending of the match. Wood had been struck dumb, incapable of agreeing because for the first time in his life, a tiny impulse of light in his chest was telling him that something in this world was more important than winning this match.

Diggory had caught the Snitch; it hadn't been fair, exactly, but the unfairness hadn't been any doing of Diggory's. It wasn't his fault, nor Harry's, that the Dementors affected one boy more than the other.

The Snitch had been caught. It had been caught by someone other than Harry. Wood knew this was simply a fact he would need to accept.

Wood closed his eyes, shaking his head under the jet of water the way he'd seen Diggory do the afternoon before. The memory made his body go prickly again, with the vision of the finely sculpted muscles and the sensation of the Quidditch-calloused palm sliding up his chest.

Now that the match was over, Wood found himself entertaining the idea of finding out what could have happened with Diggory, if the timing had been different. The idea was exciting, stimulating, and soon Wood's soap-lathered hand found its way to where he needed it, slipping up and down his excited member.

A banging sound echoed through the room, warning Wood that the door had been opened and closed, roughly. No one had been left in the structure, to his knowledge. Someone must have just walked in.

Wood cursed, turning his body toward the wall.

'Wood?'

The boy in the shower froze, recognising Diggory's voice.

His groin was in agony from the denied release. There was no way the Snape-in-a-dress trick would work at this stage.

'Just a moment!' he called out, hoping Diggory would stay where he was, and went furiously to work at finishing the job. It didn't take long.

He was rinsing away the last of the evidence when he heard Diggory's voice sound again, much closer to the showers. 'Are you alright in there?'

'Fine!' he called, turning off the water and reaching for his towel, hurrying to dry and cover himself. 'I'll be right out!'

When he emerged, hair tousled and damp, towel wrapped around his waist, Diggory was sitting quietly on a bench. He was clean and dry, fully dressed in his school robes. He must have cast a drying charm on himself after entering the changing rooms, because the rain was still pelting down outside.

Diggory's attention was fixed on a point several feet in front of him, on the floor. He did not meet Wood's gaze.

'Wood, I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'I didn't see Harry fall.'

Wood only stared at him for a moment. Finally, finding his voice, he said, 'The match was decided already. You won.' He inhaled deeply before adding, 'Congratulations,' in a flat voice.

Diggory looked up at this. His normally jovial attitude was gone.

'I'm sorry about yesterday, too,' he said. 'I wasn't trying to play games with you. Only I thought - '

Wood waited several minutes before he realised Diggory wasn't planning to continue.

'You thought what, Diggory?' he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly soft in his ears.

Diggory flushed deeply. 'I thought maybe you wanted - ' he began, but again cut himself off before he could finish. He looked mortified.

Wood took a long look at Diggory, trying to remember what looked so familiar about his expression.

When the realisation hit him, he felt foolish for not understanding sooner: Diggory looked exactly the way Wood must have, after their encounter the previous day.

'D'you ... ' Wood began, but choked on his own audacity.

Diggory looked up sharply, something like hope glimmering in the back of his gaze.

Wood breathed deeply, and tried again. 'D'you mean you wanted ... '

As the words left his mouth, the answer dawned on him as obvious. Of course Diggory had been sincere. It hadn't been like that time Flint had teased him, the previous year, stripping in front of him and giving come-hither stares.

So Wood didn't wait for a response. He stepped closer to Diggory, ignoring his carefully folded pile of clean robes, even though he felt as exposed as if he were naked before the whole school.

Diggory must have seen the look on Wood's face, because he rose and met him halfway, kneading his strong hands into the defined muscles at Wood's waist as he kissed him forcefully, knocking him back against a wall of lockers.

Wood grunted at the impact, his head aching slightly as Diggory's tongue probed his mouth, dominating him even from his disadvantage in height.

He didn't really know this boy, he thought distantly. Did that matter?

Wood opened his eyes and stared into Diggory's. The gold was there in the hazel. Diggory was taking off his robes, his shirt, his trousers. He was stepping out of his boxers, pulling on Wood's towel. He was pressing his body against Wood's sliding his tight, hot hardness against Wood's own, making him moan.

Merlin, he was hot. Wood whimpered in desire.

Diggory pulled back. 'Are you alright?' he asked, and Wood thought what a strange question it was. Here was the boy who might just have torn Wood's chances at the Quidditch Cup out of his hands, and he was about to ... well, to do something very significant to him. Was he alright?

When Wood didn't answer, Diggory stepped back and looked him very directly in the eyes.

'I'm not going to do anything you don't want,' said Diggory simply. 'You have to tell me it's alright.'

Wood stared at Diggory. He wanted him so badly he ached.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, though.

Diggory sighed sadly, and gathered up his clothing. 'If you change your mind,' he said over his shoulder as he dressed, 'you know where to find me.'

Wood sank onto the bench, watching Diggory let himself out of the structure. When the door banged closed, Wood dropped his face into his hands.

First the Snitch, now this.

***

The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry, in a hollow, dead sort of voice, that he didn't blame him in the slightest. [PoA UK p. 137]