Terrifyingly pleasant

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

glory box - portishead 

I'm so tired of playingPlaying with this bow and arrowGonna give my heart away

For this is the beginningOf forever and ever

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

When Zora wakes up, she is lulled by the soft afternoon light slipping through the thick curtains of the infirmary. It reflects off the stone and bathes the room in a golden glow, dust floating gently in the air. Outside, she can hear students talking in one of the inner courtyards.

She tries to sit up in bed but instantly regrets it. Pain bursts through her entire body. Her arms feel numb, her muscles aching as they wake, bruises blooming along her ribs. Her face twosts, and she exhales. Zora glances around.

No one.

Her eyes land on the table next to the bed and the empty chair beside it. She frowns. On the table sits a glass of water and the chain she always wears around her neck. She frowns again, reaches to take it and wrap it back around herself, only to realize it's impossible to lift her arms.

She winces and lets the chain fall again. Behind the glass of water, she spots a little napkin with some muffins. Zora smiles and reaches for them as best she can. She's starving.

"Careful, Miss Krum!" says Madam Pomfrey. "Don't move, I'm coming."

Zora rolls her eyes at her shrill voice but lets her hand her the muffin, which she places gently on her stomach.

"Mister Wood brought this for you this morning, a regular in here, if you ask me," she adds. "How are you feeling?"

Zora takes a few seconds to answer, far too distracted by the first part of the sentence. She clears her throat and nods. "I'll be okay. Not my first fall."

She smiles when she sees the nurse roll her eyes. "Judging by the state of your ribs, I could've guessed."

Behind her, Zora sees Angelina's worried face appear in the doorway. It lights up the moment she sees she's awake. She walks quickly over as Madam Pomfrey disappears into the back.

"Zora! You scared the shit out of me!" she says, grabbing her hand. "Don't ever do that again," she adds, squeezing tightly.

"Ow!" Zora cries. "My body's already 90% destroyed, let me keep my hand, please."

Angelina grins. "Oops, sorry." She sits on the empty chair and looks at her. "How do you feel?"

Zora sighs. How does she feel?

"Like shit."

On top of the physical pain, guilt and regret are eating her alive. She thinks about how reckless she'd been, how she'd risked her entire team's safety for a simple match.

Angelina gives her a small smile. "It's kind of a miracle you're still alive. You don't realize how bad that fall was. You were unconscious, Zora."

Zora sighs. "I know."

"I'm just glad to see you up. You've been asleep for two days. You're hot in your little nightshirt," she teases with a laugh.

Zora shoots her a dirty look but can't help smiling down at the nightshirt Madam Pomfrey gave her. Angelina takes out a t-shirt out of her bag and puts it on her bed. "Here. Reckon you would like to change." 

"Thanks Angie," Zora answers. 

Angelina sighs. "Viktor was worried sick. I'm going to go reassure him." She stands up, her face betraying something she wants to say but isn't sure if she will. 

Zora frowns. "Spit it out, Johnson."

Angelina bites her lip and glances at the now-empty chair as she walks backward toward the door. "I was just keeping the seat warm. For Wood. He spent the last 48 hours here, so... he should be back soon."

"What?"

But Angelina only laughs and slips out of the infirmary. Zora frowns. Wood spent the last two days here, by her side, in that chair? She shakes her head. No, that can't be true.

But at the same time, the thought doesn't push her away.

Quite the opposite.

She finds herself wanting to believe it.

Zora sighs and lets her head fall back against the pillow. Flashes from the match two days ago hit her like slaps. The storm. Cedric's face when she told him she wanted to keep playing. The fear on Adeline's face. 

The need she felt to keep going.

It had been impossible for her to imagine her first match not finishing. Impossible. She had to prove herself. Right then. Right now. A need. Visceral. That consumed her.

But all of it only ended up proving what her mother had always told her. That she wasn't made for this. That it wasn't for her. That she should do something else. Give up. All it had shown was that maybe she didn't have the shoulders to be a captain.

And what about when she plays professionally? Putting her team at risk just to prove something to herself? That's not—

"Hey."

Oliver's soft voice pulls her out of her thoughts. She jumps a little and winces in pain.

"Oh, I'm guessing I shouldn't ask how you're doing," he adds, chuckling slightly. 

Zora turns her head toward him as he sits down. He looks tired, wearing a black sweater, hair messy. Without meaning to, she feels her heart skip a beat.

She smiles. "Not my worst fall."

He chuckles. "No, definitely not. I remember your first year at camp. You broke your left ankle."

Zora slowly nods. "Fuck, yeah. I'd almost forgotten that one."

Oliver sighs. "No, seriously. How do you feel?"

A pause. Silence. "I'm the worst Captain in Quidditch history. Taking risks like that, it was—" She stops. "It was irresponsible. God, I feel so guilty—"

Oliver takes her hand, and Zora stops talking.

"Stop torturing yourself. It's over. Diggory didn't want to keep playing simply because he knew he was going to lose. And, if it helps, I probably would've done the same."

Zora snorts. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she teases.

Oliver looks at her and runs his tongue behind his teeth. "Fair enough."

Then his eyes fall on the muffin crumbs still resting on her stomach. He raises an eyebrow and looks back at Zora. She looks away and smiles. And most importantly, she does everything not to let him see the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"I take it the muffin was good," Oliver says.

"Thank you."

Silence. Then a question itches at her. She's dying to ask him if it's true. If he really stayed by her side for two days, waiting for her to wake up. But she asks something else instead. 

"Did we win?"

Oliver smiles faintly. "I knew you'd ask me that. Yes. It's too complicated to postpone matches this year with the new organization and the Tournament."

Zora smiles. "Nice." Then her face falls. "But Cedric deserved it more than I did."

"Nonsense."

"I don't agree with you on that one, Wood."

Another silence. Like always when it's just the two of them, she feels good. But she feels him shift beside her. He's nervously brushing his hand along his thigh, clearing his throat.

"I-, you-"

She turns her head toward him, pushing him to speak. "You fuckin' scared me, Krum."

"Did I, now?" she asks, wanting to appear confident, while inside her body is melting.

"Well, I mean, you know—with the fall and all that, I—"

Zora nods, a slight smile on her lips. Oliver exhales, putting a hand to his neck. 

"Nice top, by the way," he adds, wanting to change the conversation. 

Zora rolls her eyes. "Fuck off, Wood."

She sits up with difficulty and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her eyes drop to her leg. Her shorts reveal a few bruises on her thighs. She's used to it. 

"C'mon, if you think it's so funny, help me change. Angelina brought me a t-shirt," she says, standing up. 

She hears Oliver sit up too and clear his throat. "You— you want me to go get Angie? I can—"

Zora shakes her head as she stands up. "Come on. Own up to making fun of me now."

She turns her back to him and starts slipping her arms out of her shirt carefully without raising them. She almost stops when she feels Oliver's fingertips grazing her hips as he starts to lift the shirt over her head, slowly. 

Zora suddenly regrets asking him this. She feels his breath itching against her back, the warmth of his body close to her. She tries with all her might to push down what she's feeling, but just as she grabs the t-shirt Angelina brought her, she feels Oliver's fingers gently brush the bruises on her ribs. Her movement stops.

Oliver's fingers linger. Zora feels her whole body shiver, praying he doesn't feel it, her breath catching in her throat. He doesn't say anything. Just traces the edge of one of the darker ones with a careful touch, as if trying to memorize it.

"You're an idiot, Zora Krum," he whispers. 

Then his hand moves slightly lower. And Zora remembers what's at the end of her back, inked deep on her skin. Her tattoo. She made it last year. A beautiful drawing of the sun. 

She feels his thumb sliding on the delicate lines of the tattooed sun and Zora tries to forget his fingers are touching her so low. 

"Слънце," his voice suddenly says, barely above a whisper. 

She freezes. Sun. In Bulgarian. He remembers. He noticed and remembered all the time Viktor called her that. And the way he says it, his accent, his touch, she feels like it's too much. 

From Oliver's lips, the word feels like something else entirely. Something gentler. Meant for her. 

Zora doesn't realize she's leaning back until her spine meets his chest. She feels him inhale, sharp and silent, like he's trying not to move too suddenly. She closes her eyes. She didn't know how badly she needed this—his touch, his steadiness, his presence. 

"I made it last year," she answers. 

Her fingers finally find the t-shirt on the bed. She holds it out without turning, her voice soft. "Here."

Oliver takes it from her and carefully pulls it over her head, guiding the fabric down. He gently helps her slide one arm through a sleeve, then the other—but the fit is awkward, and her elbow gets stuck halfway.

Zora lets out a helpless laugh. "I'm stuck."

Oliver snorts, then starts laughing too. He gently turns her around to help her. Their laughs mingle for a moment—until he frees her arm and her head finally comes out. 

Zora blinks up at him, her hair a mess from the t-shirt, cheeks pink, her smile wide. Her face so close to his now. Her face so real. So radiant. 

His hands are still on her hips, holding her. Gripping her. Grounding her.

Oliver's right hand moves to her hair as he brushes wild strands. They stay like that until Madam Pomfrey comes back, clearing her throat. 

Loudly.

They both stands back, Zora looking away. 

Oliver scratches the back of his neck, cheeks bright red. "Right. Um. Shirt's on. That's good."

Madam Pomfrey walks to them. "Off you go, Wood. You're here enough anyway. I don't want you here if  you're not wounded. And Miss Krum need some rest."

"Yes Poppy," he says gently before turning back to Zora. "Well, see you."

"See you," she answers.

And she curses herself for smiling like an idiot as she watches him walk back, hands in his pocket, looking at her behind his shoulders a couple of times.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

The next afternoon, Zora is finally cleared to leave the infirmary. Her body still aches in too many places to count, but Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion she'll need to drink every morning for the next week. It'll help.

She walks slowly toward Gryffindor Tower. Tonight is the New Year's Eve party. The Slytherins are throwing the party in the dungeons, after the formal dinner hosted by the professors. 

She climbs the last steps and pushes the door to the girls' dorm open, fully expecting to get yelled at for even thinking about going to the party in her condition. But she wouldn't miss it for anything.

Katie is the first to spot her. "Zora! Look who finally rose from the dead," she says.

Zora rolls her eyes but steps forward to hug her, careful not to wince. The girls are already halfway into their party preparation : clothes everywhere, makeup and soft music.

Adeline gasps when she sees her and rushes over, throwing her arms around Zora's shoulders.

Zora shouts. "Fucking hell, Adeline Durand. I swear to God I'll hex you all the way back to France."

Adeline just grins and loops an arm gently around her. "She's back, guys. The drama queen lives."

Zora exhales, smiling slightly. She walks over to Angelina's bed and flops onto it. Just then, the Angelina walks out of the bathroom, mascara in hand, only to freeze when she sees Zora sprawled across her sheets.

"The fuck are you doing here, Krum?"

"Pomfrey let me go," Zora says sweetly, already reaching for some leftover candy on the nightstand. "I'm coming with you tonight."

Angelina crosses her arms. "Absolutely not. Have you seen the state you're in?"

Zora raises an eyebrow. "C'mon. You really think I'm gonna stay in that hospital bed while you lot are dancing in the dungeons? Over my dead body. Again."

Katie nods in approval. "She's got a point, Angie."

Angelina sighs dramatically. "Fine. But if you so much as mention being in pain tonight, I will personally carry you back to Pomfrey and lock the door."

"I'll have alcohol," Zora shrugs. "To forget the pain. And the fact that I might be the worst captain in Quidditch history."

Angelina turns around, brandishing her mascara at her like a weapon. "No self-sabotage, Krum."

Zora grins, raising her hands in surrender as far as her ribs will let her. "Alright, alright. Message received." She rises carefully to her feet. "Now. I need a shower. And an outfit," she adds, flashing her most innocent smile at the girls.

Adeline snorts. "Yeah yeah, go shower first. Then we'll ask Wood to help you pick your outfit."

Zora freezes mid-step. Her mouth falls open. "Excuse me?"

Adeline just moves her pinky finger at Angelina, who looks far too smug for Zora's liking.

"What?" Angelina shrugs, not even trying to hide her pride. "Don't act surprised. I know everything."

Zora gives them a middle finger, before disappearing into the bathroom, biting back a smile.

"But don't worry Krum, what happens at the infirmary stays at the infirmary." 

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

When the girls arrive at the party, the dungeons are already packed. Music is thundering through the stone corridors, basslines bouncing off the walls. The floor is sticky with spilled drinks, and the air smells like firewhiskey and champagne.

Without a word, they push through the crowd and head straight for the drinks. Zora takes her first glass and clinks it against those of her friends. The warmth of the firewhiskey burns down her throat, and for a brief moment, the ache in her muscles dulls. She exhales slowly.

Angelina spots the rest of her Quidditch team at the other side of the room and the rest follows her. As they approach, Fred and George's faces light up.

"Goodness, Krum, that fall was legendary," Fred says.

"A ghost? Is that what we're seeing?" George adds, dramatically touching her shoulder like she might vanish under his fingers.

Zora gives them a lazy, amused smile. "Nope, all flesh and bones. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Fred fake sighs. "Too bad. That would have suited our dear Captain very well." He steps aside just enough to reveal the person behind him.

Oliver.

He's already looking at her. White shirt unbuttoned at the collar, glass dangling from his fingers. His eyes are a little glazed, and Zora guesses this isn't his first drink of the evening.

But it's not that that hits her.

It's the way he's looking at her.

Everything comes rushing back—every look, every almost, every word that's lingered longer than it should have. Something shifts under her skin when she sees him like that. There's a pull she's been pretending not to feel for weeks, maybe longer. And it's getting harder to pretend.

More, she doesn't want to anymore.

"You wanna get rid of me, Wood?" she asks, brow raised.

He doesn't flinch. "Nah," he says, lips curling up, "I'd rather see your face crumble when we beat you and take the Cup."

A chorus of cheers and whistle breaks out around them. Zora feigns a gasp, staring at him wide-eyed. Oliver doesn't usually banter like this. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like it.

"Oh? Feeling confident, are we?" she fires back.

He just holds her gaze, doesn't even blink. Neither of them smiles.

They're too busy watching. Waiting. Testing.

The rest of the evening blurs into laughter, shared stories, and too many rounds of firewhiskey. They stay all together in one corner of the room, Zora half-sitting on the armrest of a couch, back pressed lightly against a cushion, her eyes never far from Oliver. He doesn't say much. Neither does she. But they're aware of each other, constantly. It's in the way they steal glances, as if afraid someone might catch on.

Zora notices something else to her left—George and Angelina. They're side by side, teasing each other like they always do, but it's different tonight. There's a nervousness in the way they speak, in the way they glance toward the others when they laugh too hard. Like they're trying to act normal. Like they're hiding something they don't know how to name yet.

Zora's had enough of waiting games.

She straightens up, walks over to them with an idea.

"George, Angie!" she calls out, grabbing their attention. "You two are needed at the bar. Someone asked for you. Urgent."

George looks at her, confused. "Us? Why?"

Zora raises her brows meaningfully at Angelina. After a beat, the other girl catches on.

"Oh—yeah! I think I heard that too. Come on," Angelina says quickly, grabbing George's hand and dragging him into the crowd.

Zora watches them go, arms crossed, a proud little smile tugging at her lips.

When she turns back around, Oliver is watching her with one eyebrow raised. 

"What?" she asks innocently. "Sometimes all it takes is a little push to make something happen."

He narrows his eyes. "That was the worst excuse I've ever heard. You're lucky George isn't the most oblivious one in the room."

"Oliver Wood talking about being oblivious. Somebody pinch me."

He snorts and shakes his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

Zora sighs. "I need another drink."

Zora makes her way through the crowd, glass in hand, the firewhiskey buzzing pleasantly in her chest. She takes another drink and on her way back to her friends, she spots Cedric Diggory. 

He's standing near one of the far alcoves, talking with a few other Hufflepuffs, his hair falling a little into his eyes, drink in hand. 

Zora hesitates for half a second. Then walks toward him.

"Diggory," she says, voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music.

He turns, sees her, and he instantly smiles.

"Zora," he says with a nod. "Didn't expect to see you vertical this soon."

She can't help but laugh. "Neither did I. Listen..." she trails off for a second, biting the inside of her cheek. "I just wanted to say sorry. For the match. I should've agreed to stop. You were right. I was just too damn stubborn. I don't know what got into me. I put you all in danger."

Cedric's gaze searches her face. "Look, everyone is safe at the end. It's what matters. I'm happy to see you well."

She smiles at him. 

He tilts his head slightly. "How do you feel?"

Zora shrugs. "A bit sore. But it's manageable." She pauses. "Hey, you deserved to win." 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry. Unlike Wood, wining the Cup is not my number one dream."

She smiles, and for a while, they just stand there, Cedric's friends folding her into their conversation, handing her another drink. Zora listens, throws in a few dry comments that make them laugh, and starts to feel a little more at ease.

But then— she feels it. His eyes on her. 

She looks up and spots him across the room. 

Leaning against the wall, talking to someone she doesn't recognize. Eyes fixed on her. 

Watching her. 

But more than that—he's studying her. From head to toe.

Zora suddenly feels the weight of his gaze, as it's running across the line of her neck, over the shape of her waist, down all the way to her legs. Studying every inch of her. 

His jaw is tight. His glass half-full and forgotten in his hand.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, and there's something different in the look he gives her now. Not angry. Not soft either. Something in between.

Jealous, maybe.

Zora takes another sip of her drink, still holding his gaze.

She turns back to Cedric, but that look from Oliver— It stays with her.

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

After midnight, Zora is curled up in a quiet corner of the common room, far from the noise and the crowd. She's slumped on a sofa, legs stretched over the low table in front of her, the firelight warming her skin.

In front of her, the flames crackle gently.

Behind her, the dull thud of music, clinking glasses, bursts of laughter and voices.

Inside her, the only sound is the rush of her own heartbeat pounding a little too loud in her ears.

She needed a moment alone.The alcohol doesn't only dull her pain. It made sure her mind is heavy with the realization that her year at Hogwarts is already halfway through—and that soon, it will all rewind back to reality.

 Back to Bulgaria. Back home.

Back to her. The arguments. The explanations. The constant pressure to justify, to prove, to please.

She also needed space from something—or someone—else. The tension she feels every time she meets Oliver's eyes is getting harder to ignore. And the alcohol hasn't helped. Between yesterday and today, her heart and body have made one thing painfully clear: it's getting harder to pretend.

And tonight, even worse. His confidence is boost up. His golden skin against the white shirt, the mess of his hair, the half-smile, the damn dimple-

Everything about him feels like a test she's destined to fail.

Zora sinks deeper into the cushions and lets her eyes close. Just for a minute.

But the peace doesn't last. She hears footsteps behind her—slow, familiar. She doesn't need to look to know who it is.

She recognizes his perfume. She wonders, not for the first time, if he just wears too much... or if it's just him that intoxicates her like that.

She keeps her eyes closed, but feels the couch shift beside her as his weight settles in. 

"Happy New Year, Krum," he says softly. "Brought champagne. Just in case."

She smiles faintly and opens her eyes. He's holding out the bottle to her. She takes it, sits up, drinks straight from the neck.

"Happy New Year, Oliver Wood."

He takes a sip too, watching her. "Where'd you disappear to? Everyone was looking for you at midnight."

"Everyone?" she echoes, raising an eyebrow.

He just gives her that crooked smile again. She exhales slowly, not answering.

Silence. The fire cracks. The music blurs.

"How's Nikita?" Oliver asks suddenly.

The question pulls a genuine smile from her lips. Oliver had met her dog the summer she brought him to camp—before Coach Joe banned pets altogether because Nikita chewed through her training plans.

"Good. I miss him. He loved you, you know."

"Loved him too," Oliver replies. "Especially when he drove Coach Joe mad."

She laughs, soft and low. He shifts beside her. Straightens a little. His tone changes.

"So... it's not Nikita that's the problem."

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong. I've seen it since the owlery. You've been off."

Zora sighs. Takes a long swig of champagne. She hesitates. She doesn't want to tell him everything about her mother's scheme. Well, not yet. It would make it too real. 

"It's just... you know that feeling? When you're being pushed into something you never wanted? And if you don't do it, you feel like you're letting everyone down—like you're betraying them. Or worse—like you're betraying yourself."

He doesn't answer. Just watches her.

She turns toward him. Her voice a little rougher now. "But you know what that's like, don't you?"

This time, it's him who drinks deep. He doesn't answer. She scoffs. "I don't know why you can't accept the fact you don't want to go to Puddlemere." 

And then—quietly, barely above a whisper—he says it.

"I don't want to go to Puddlemere."

She sits up straighter. Blinks. She hadn't expected him to say it—not out loud. But he did. For the first time. 

"But if I don't... my father will never look at me the same way ever again."

Zora lowers her gaze. She knows that feeling all too well.

"You deserve more than Puddlemere. You deserve to aim higher. To want more."

Pause.

"Your father's dream ended the day of his accident. That doesn't give him the right to force it onto you. No matter how much it hurts him."

Oliver scoffs. Not unkindly—just tired. "Easy to say. Harder to do."

She turns her head toward him again.

"I know," she says quietly. And she means it.

"You think about your father often?" Oliver asks.

The question catches Zora off guard. Her body tenses, her back straightens instinctively, and something knots in her stomach. 

Often? No—every day. There isn't a single day where she doesn't think of him—his soft voice, the rough scratch of his beard when he kissed her cheek, the scent of his aftershave, the way he smiled at her like.

Every day. And every day, the same thought comes back—if he were still here, none of the poison her mother spills would find its way into her mind. If he were here, she wouldn't doubt who she is.

Then she realizes why Oliver is asking. She turns her head toward him, her voice soft. "Your mum?"

He nods, just once, a quiet, heavy gesture. Zora frowns as she shifts to face him more directly. "She's gone?" she asks, already regretting it .

"No," he says, then adds, "But she might as well be."

Zora remembers—he's talked before, during the summers at camp, about his mum. How she started forgetting things. How it got worse. Dementia. One of the cruelest thieves of all. She doesn't even dare imagine it.

"I think about him every day," she finally says. A beat of silence. Then: "How is she?"

He lets out a bitter laugh, short and sharp. "She doesn't remember us. Not me. Not Nora. Dad just... leaves her in her room. Keeps her out of sight. Doesn't take her anywhere unless I'm home, because I'm the only one who does it."

Zora feels something twist deep in her chest. 

"It's worse for Nora," Oliver adds. "I mean—I'm older. I've figured it out. I've come to terms with it. But Nora? She's six. Six years old and she's already had to learn what it means when your mum looks at you like a stranger. Like you're nobody. When she can't even remember your name. When she shouts at you when you just want to be hold."

His voice cracks at the end, and Zora can't stop herself. She shifts closer to him and eventually lets her head rest gently across his thighs. He shifts, but then his hand finds her hair, and he runs his fingers through it with a kind of care she didn't expect from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Nora's lucky to have you."

She can feel the small smile on his lips even without looking up. Then he sighs.

"And I hate my dad for it. For abandoning them. Sometimes I think he sees Mum and Nora as burdens more than anything else. The only thing tying him to that house is me—and his bloody Puddlemere team."

Zora's eyes stay fixed on the fire, but her heart hears every word. She understands his anger far more than he probably realizes. She doesn't just hear it—she feels it. She knows it. She carries her own version of it every day.

"I just want to play for myself," Oliver finishes. "And I want my wins to be mine."

Zora lifts her head slowly. The words settle in her chest. She meets his eyes, steady and sure. And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn't look so terrifying.

"That's the thing, isn't it?" she says softly. "Trying to find something that's ours."

Oliver nods, watching her just as closely. There's something shared between them now, something that doesn't need to be explained.

Zora reaches for the champagne bottle, lifts it to her lips, and downs what's left in a single go. She grimaces, making Oliver chuckle.

"C'mon," she says, wiping her mouth. "Let's do something less depressing."

He lifts a brow. "Like?"

She tilts the empty bottle toward him. "We play. Answer or drink."

Oliver smiles back slowly. "Dangerous game."

"What? You scared, Wood?"

"Never."

She smiles. "Let's go outside. I need some fresh air. And we'll need another bottle."

Zora starts to stand but sways slightly under the pain—and before she can fully rise, her feet lift off the floor. Oliver's arms are suddenly under her knees and behind her shoulders, cradling her effortlessly.

"What's this for?" she laughs.

"We'll get there faster this way," he says casually.

She lets her head fall against his chest, relaxed, trusting, maybe a little tipsy. As they pass through the common room, he takes a detour into the small storage room where the alcohol is hidden. He checks to make sure no one's watching, then grabs two unopened bottles and places them gently on Zora's stomach.

She laughs as she watches him. "Thief," she teases.

"I prefer opportunist," he answers, glancing at her with a crooked smile as they slip out the door. "If you don't mind."

"I don't," she whispers.

They finally agreed to go to the Gryffindor Tower. Oliver walks through the common room, out onto the balcony, and gently sets her down against the railing.

"Do you want me to get you a chair?" he asks, already turning to leave, but Zora catches his hand and shakes her head.

"Let's play."

Oliver narrows his eyes slightly and steps back toward her, toward the edge. From the way she looks at him, he understands instantly—the mood has shifted. It's no longer about hearts laid bare, but bodies. Or maybe both.

He runs a hand through his hair, grabs one of the two bottles. He doesn't know if it's the alcohol giving him this sudden confidence or if he's just tired of ignoring what she makes him feel. 

"Hit me."

She smiles. "Okay. Answer or drink. Was it you who put the magazine in my room?"

He holds her gaze before answering simply, "Yes."

"Your turn."

He inhales. "Would you have said yes if I'd asked you to the Yule Ball?"

"Yes," she replies without a beat, and Oliver's heart misses a bit at the certainty in her voice.

"Is it true you stayed at the infirmary during the two days I was asleep?" she counters.

He rolls his tongue in his cheek, starts raising the bottle to his lips, then pauses. "Yes."

She feels her whole body melting and warming. 

He takes a second to think. "Have you ever fancied Diggory?" he asks next.

Zora smiles, eyes narrowing. "Jealous, Wood?"

He leans in. "Answer my question first, Krum."

"Never," she says, her voice calm, eyes still locked on his.

The air between them thickens, heat rising despite the biting winter outside. It's suddenly hard to breathe.

"Were you jealous of Samuel, at camp?" she asks.

Oliver stares at her—then calmly reaches for the bottle and takes a sip. 

Zora gasps. "You'd rather drink?!"

He shrugs.

She narrows her eyes. "Coward."

"That's the rules."

"You could have answered this" she presses.

"I think I just did, Krum."

She rolls her eyes. He shifts closer.

"What are you feeling, right now?" he asks, his voice lower, more serious.

Her breath catches. She doesn't look away.

"If I tell you now, I'm afraid it's going to be complicated to pretend the game is still just a game," she says.

She sees him swallow hard, his eyes drop to her lips — a few seconds that feel like an eternity — then rise back to meet hers.

"And you, how are you feeling ?" she asks.

He marks a pause and smiles. "It's terrifying, everything I am feeling right now. Terrifyingly pleasant."

She wonders if he has any ideas how each of his words and the way he is opening up is completely undoing her.

He shifts in front of her, trapping her with his two hands on the railing beside her. "Do you often whisper sweet nicknames in foreign languages to half-dressed girls in infirmaries, or am I just lucky?" she asks, leaning even closer, having to tilt her head up just a little more to look at him.

She feels the tips of his fingers brush against hers — they touch, pull away, like they're afraid of getting burned. Their legs are almost tangled now, his uneven breath warm against her face, smelling faintly of champagne.

He opens his mouth, flustered, then shuts it again. "That's not— I wasn't—"

Zora bites her lip and lifts a hand — slow, deliberate — and it brushes the collar of his shirt. Her fingers barely graze the skin beneath as she adjusts it, but it's enough. Enough to make him twitch. "God, you're cute when you stammer," she whispers, her breath on his neck. 

She sees his lips part slightly. He runs his tongue across them.

She feels like they're standing on the edge of a cliff, and at any second, she might shove them both off. A beautiful fall. One far too tempting.

Her entire body aches for him. She feels it in the way her heart slams against her ribs, in her clammy palms, in her knees that threaten to give out, in the way her back arches toward him without thinking. 

He exhales shakily, a laugh that's more of a surrender. "Is this a new game where the point is to drive me crazy, Zora Krum?" he says, his voice wrecked. "Because believe me, you're good at this one."

She doesn't answer, thriving. Her fingers are still on his collar, but now they rest flat, her palm against his chest, over his heartbeat. She can feel how fast it's going. He feels like a storm barely held back.

"I have one more question," she whispers.

He groans, his head dropping forward for a second, forehead almost brushing hers, his hands gripping the railing behind her like it's the only thing keeping him standing.

"You are infuriating," he breathes. "And the worst part? I love it. I thrive on it. And I haven't decided yet if it's going to ruin me or save me." He looks her in the eye. "Probably both. God help me."

Her lips part. She feels her own breath trembling now.

"What would you do," she asks, "if I asked you to kiss me right now?"

For a second — nothing.

And then his hand finds her waist. The other goes to the back of her neck, tilting her head. 

He's breathing hard now. So is she.

Time fractures.

"Do you want me to ?" he finally manages to say. 

"I ask first," she says, breathless now.

"Do you even realize what you're doing to me, Zora? Because every time you get close, I swear I feel myself falling apart — and it's like you don't even notice."

She doesn't answer, feeling her heart might explode. He takes a deep breath.

"And to answer your question, I'll kiss you if you want me to. I'll kiss you Zora Krum, and I'll stop only when you want me to."

And there it is, the fall. There he is, her fall. 

Feet on the edge of the precipice. Adrenaline making her heart stop. 

Hands still on his shirt, she pulls him closer. 

Ready to throw herself in, body and soul. He could take her heart too, while he's at it.

Their lips brush, and Zora feels the fall coming, that sensation of emptiness so pleasing, this reckless feeling of abandon, she can taste it now.

Almost.

She's never been so close to someone, so ready to lose herself.

But then, from out of nowhere—she lands. Sooner than expected

The door of the balcony creaks open, and before either of them can pull back, Angelina appears, wide-eyed and breathless. "Zora!" she calls out. "There you are. I've been looking all over for you. Are you alright?"

Zora freezes, a wave of disappointment washing over her. She stares at Angelina, her heart still racing. She doesn't know what to feel anymore.

Oliver, too, pulls away sharply, his jaw tightening, his frustration barely contained. He stares at Angelina for a moment, his chest rising and falling in frustration. The heat between them has evaporated in an instant, and a suffocating silence replaces it.

"I'm fine, no need to worry !" Zora answers nervously.

Angelina, unaware of the tension she's just walked into, approaches Zora quickly, her face a mix of concern and confusion. "Where did you go ? You weren't there at midnight !"

She sighs, angry now. "I just needed some air, don't go all concern on me !"

"Hey ! Sorry if I'm concerned for my bestfriend was who at the infirmary just this morning !" Angelina answers, clearly upset now. 

"I think I'm going to go," Oliver says slowly, walking toward the common room. 

"Oliver-, wai-", she says, almost like a plea. But he is almost gone already, waving at them goodbye.

The game, it seems, isn't over just yet.

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ahhhhhhhh i know you hate me i'm so sorry. 

i just can't resist a bit of tension and longing I'M SORRY 

but i hope you like this chapter either way. don't hesitate to tell me ->

i wanted a bit of intimate moment and make them realise they can't pretend they're not attracted to each other lol. It's a bit of a turning point for them and for the story.

thanks for the constant love on this story you have no idea how happy it makes me. love u all <3